


Hurt

by 221BJen (jcoz1701)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Emotional Constipation, Fight Club - Freeform, First Time, M/M, Miscommunication, Post HLV, They Work it out eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/pseuds/221BJen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is what happens when I watch the RDJ Sherlock Holmes and Fight Club anywhere near each other. This idea has been percolating for over a year and with the way Series 3 ended, I decided it needed to go there. </p><p>It has also been said that miscommunication will buy you at least three chapters of angst. Well here are those chapters! :)</p><p>This is not a WIP. The entire story is written and I will try to post a chapter a day until it's done.</p><p>Thanks as always to my partner-in-crime and general person who puts up with my late night whining about not being able to word, diewarm. </p><p>Thank you and huge hugs to my beta and britpicker, gowerstreet, without whom I would not be able to British.</p><p>And also thanks to E (sorry I couldn't remember your AO3 name) for last minute edits and making sure that the boys are sitting or standing when they are supposed to be.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I watch the RDJ Sherlock Holmes and Fight Club anywhere near each other. This idea has been percolating for over a year and with the way Series 3 ended, I decided it needed to go there. 
> 
> It has also been said that miscommunication will buy you at least three chapters of angst. Well here are those chapters! :)
> 
> This is not a WIP. The entire story is written and I will try to post a chapter a day until it's done.
> 
> Thanks as always to my partner-in-crime and general person who puts up with my late night whining about not being able to word, diewarm. 
> 
> Thank you and huge hugs to my beta and britpicker, gowerstreet, without whom I would not be able to British.
> 
> And also thanks to E (sorry I couldn't remember your AO3 name) for last minute edits and making sure that the boys are sitting or standing when they are supposed to be.

Chapter 1

 

He'd only been gone four minutes.

After the plane landed, Sherlock pulled his coat back on and clattered down the stairway in a fury. "What's happened?"

Mycroft showed him the video that had taken over every screen in the country. "My people are working on it."

Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration. Moriarty was dead. He had watched him put a bullet in his brain. There was no chance that he had survived. Someone else was behind this.

In the back of his mind, a single thought is screaming over and over: _You fool. You should have told him._ And right behind that one: _Would it have mattered?_ He had seen the fear in John's eyes and that was the only thing that had stopped the long overdue statement of sentiment. He was a coward. They both were.

John and Mary were waiting by the car that had been set to take them back home. John met him halfway. "You're going?"

"Of course. You're coming too." It wasn't a question and John bristled.

"No, Sherlock. Not this time."

Sherlock blinked at him in surprise. He saw the set of John's shoulders and the tension that they carried, deducing that this was Mary's doing. John had decided to go all in and forgive her. He had encouraged this but had been hoping that by not fighting John on this subject, he would come to the correct decision all by himself. Apparently not.

"Very well." Sherlock turned and went back the way he came without a second glance. Thank god he hadn't told him.

\--

John joined Mary back at their car and took her elbow to steady her. She looked at him approvingly. "He asked you to go with him, didn't he?"

"Didn't ask. Told. I said no." John clenched the hand that she couldn't see hard and then straightened the fingers, trying to work out the tremor that had started the moment that Sherlock had turned his back on him.

"That's alright. I'm sure he and Mycroft can sort it out without your help." She patted his hand before lacing their fingers together. He turned his head to look out the window, hiding a grimace when he saw the other car pulling away in the opposite direction.

It was fine. It was all fine. This is where he is supposed to be. His wife and child need him right now.

\--

The car delivered Sherlock back to Baker Street at his insistence. Mycroft had been against that plan but had not wanted to deal with the oncoming tantrum enough to put up much of an argument.

This was intolerable.

John was not usually this idiotic. How he could continue to be this obtuse was unfathomable. He was not built for a placid life in the suburbs. Even with an ex-assassin for a wife.

Sherlock had done things to John that would have been unforgivable to anyone else, but John had understood the reasoning behind them. At least that's what he said. Sherlock had always been able to sense the underlying anger whenever it was mentioned or if something reminded him of it but John had not acted on it past that first night.

He threw his mobile onto the sofa to avoid the stream of texts that were arriving from Mycroft and his team. He couldn't focus. He needed something.

He dug under the sofa for the slipper with his cigarette stash. It was a habit that he had picked up in university that he had never quite kicked. He had beaten it down with patches but they just could not replace it completely.

The slipper in which they had resided had been part of a pair given to him as a joke by a fellow student that had professed to be his friend, early in their acquaintance. It turned out that the friend had only been interested in getting into his pants. Once he had discovered that Sherlock had reached that age with absolutely no experience, the young man had endured his fumblings once and then had never contacted him again.

It was fitting that they were stored inside the catalyst of another greater addiction. The humiliation that he had felt had led to drinking to take the edge off and to try and fit in. To be less of a freak. When that became boring, he moved up the ladder.

Cocaine had been his drug of choice. It made everything brighter and his mind worked faster. It made the company of people tolerable and it enabled him to put on a normal facade. He was able to go to clubs and not get overwhelmed by the press of the crowd or the thumping of the music.

He used his body to attract and his mind to deduce what the other person wanted. He would dance for hours and then it was a simple matter of finding someone to get off with in the toilet or the alleyway. Sex had never been about love or affection. It was a tool to get what he wanted, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy it.

He stuffed the slipper back under the sofa so that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't find it during her damned cleaning and opened the window before lighting up. He took the first sweet drag and felt the nicotine rush through him. This was good. This would help him focus.

He finished the cigarette and picked up his mobile to get back to the matter at hand.

\--

John tried to read the paper but all the headlines screamed "Moriarty Alive?" He gave up and tossed it aside. He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to think of something he could do that wouldn't be a constant reminder that he was here and not helping Sherlock run down criminals.

He was doing the right thing. He was going to have a family and he needed to get used to being left out. Perhaps he could help on some of the small cases that still came through the blog, but he was going to have to let Sherlock take on the more dangerous ones without him.

Without backup.

He couldn't think that way. Sherlock had been doing this for years before they met and had been fine. He’d certainly had no problem going it on his own for two years without a word. He would be fine. It was all fucking fine.

He could hear Mary puttering around in the kitchen. She had been able to give up her exciting life for normalcy, he guessed that he would be able to as well. He knew that she wouldn't approve of him helping on cases at all once the baby was born but he would find a way around it.

He had convinced himself to forgive her for what she had done but it still made him sick to his stomach if he let himself dwell on it. Sherlock had died. It was in the hospital report. Dead.

He realized that Mary had asked him a question. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I asked if you'd like some tea."

"Sure. That would be nice."

Nice.

Dull.

Boring.

\--

It was infuriatingly simple to solve the Moriarty video. It had been the work of a group of hackers who happened to be fans and had done it just because they could. It was Mycroft's problem now.

Sherlock threw himself down on the sofa and checked his phone again. Nothing. Nothing from Lestrade. Nothing from Molly. Nothing from-

No. He couldn't start thinking about him again. He had made a choice and it would accomplish nothing to try and change his mind. Just more disappointment.

He lit another cigarette, not even giving the pretense of caring about opening the window. He just endured Mrs. Hudson's pointed remarks about the smell. She was on mute right now anyway. She kept asking where he was.

Sherlock knew that as soon as he had walked into that restaurant and witnessed John fidgeting with the engagement ring that it was over. It was like a bullet to his chest. Apt comparison that. It felt exactly the same.  He had built up in his mind what would happen on his return and all of those plans had been crushed in an instant at the sight of blond hair and soft curves.

He had hoped that they could have picked up right where they left off. But he had not counted on the grief and anger that John had experienced. He had no idea that it would affect him so much. From what he had been able to glean from Mycroft's file and things that Lestrade had shouted at him, John had grieved him like a lover.

If only John had not told every second person that saw them together that he was 'not gay', Sherlock might have been compelled to act. He had become aware of his latent feelings not long before he jumped off Bart's. Now it was too late.

Mary had beaten him to it. And to add insult to literal injury, she had taken John away from him twice. If he had thought for one moment that John would actually be stupid enough to carry on with her after what she had done-

He shook his head at the thought. If he had taken advantage of John's vulnerable state in those few precious months in which he had moved back to care for Sherlock, it might have worked for a while but it would have eventually driven them apart again. After all, there was a child and John's sense of nobility would always win that argument.

The cigarette had burned down while he had been thinking and he flicked the ash into the crystal ashtray. It was a constant reminder of laughing together at Sherlock's ridiculousness. The best of times.

It hurt more than a bullet and Sherlock relished the pain.

\--

It was 3am and John couldn't sleep.

He had eased out of bed to avoid waking Mary and now he sat in the armchair in the sitting room wide awake. He thought about making a drink to see if that would help but it would only result in a headache in the morning.

He looked at his mobile where he had left it on the table. It had been silent for days. No texts from Stamford or Lestrade with an invite to the pub. Nothing from-

He couldn't go there. If he started thinking about it, he would text him and then he would be tempted to go do something mad. He wasn't sure if he would be able to resist and he had promised Mary that he wouldn't do it anymore. That he would put her and the baby first.

He gritted his teeth. He always put everyone's needs above his own. It was what he did. What he had always done.

And there was the deep and ugly thread of doubt that would rise, especially in the middle of the night. He would wonder if he had made the right choice in staying in a marriage with the person that had almost killed his best friend. More than best friend.

Their relationship had been beyond definition. If Sherlock had been amenable, John would have made a move shortly after they had started sharing the flat. But Sherlock had made it clear that he was married to his work and John had assumed that he was either asexual or simply not interested. It had never been discussed. He couldn't imagine having that sort of conversation with Sherlock. He would probably get a lecture on the effects of distraction in the name of sex on concentration and mental acuity.

He had been attracted to Sherlock when they first met, and had developed a hopeless infatuation after they became close friends. How he had been able to hide this from the most observant man on the planet, he couldn't even guess. He had become adept at hiding any tells and he wasn't sure that Sherlock would have picked up on them anyway. For someone that gorgeous, he could be absolutely clueless when someone was hitting on him.

In direct contrast, he was the master of using his looks and charm to his advantage. Poor Molly had cultivated her crush for years, even getting engaged to Tom (who John referred to as Faux Sherlock in his head) before finally breaking it off when she finally came to her senses.

The last time he saw Greg, he had finally asked her out and they had gone out several times. Good on him. He hoped they were happy together. It was nice that someone got what they wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Greg watched the two men cautiously as they made their way around the crime scene and one another. Something was off. They were perfectly polite to each other and that was just downright unnerving. It was if they were just working colleagues and not close friends at all.

Sherlock had finally broken down and sent John a text when Lestrade had contacted him about the case. He was pleased when the response had been in the affirmative, but that had faded once he actually saw John. One look told him all he needed to know.

John was miserable. He wasn't sleeping; that had always been a sure sign of uncertainty and distress. Sherlock schooled his features to blankness and took on a cool and polite air. He would not offer comfort. John had made his decision and now he would have to deal with it.

He nodded to him and then immediately started examining the details in a desperate bid to stave off distraction. Sherlock worked silently for once. He could feel John's eyes follow him as he moved from one thing to another.

"John, come look at this."

"Oh, you're speaking to me now are you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. John was hurt. Well he could join the bloody club because there was enough pain to go around.

"Nevermind. If you are unable to put personal issues aside, perhaps it was a mistake to have asked you here."

The silence that fell was deafening. Greg held his breath and waited for the outburst that was sure to follow. It didn't.

John just stared at Sherlock, hurt and anger flitting across his face.

"Fine. Mary needed me to pick some things up anyway. Bye, Greg."

And then he left. Just left without another word.

What the hell was going on?

Greg wheeled on Sherlock and grabbed him by the sleeve, tugging him to the side. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to."

"Dammit Sherlock, that was cruel. Even for you. I've seen you be a big bloody bastard before but never to John. What's going on?"

Sherlock yanked his sleeve out of Lestrade's grasp and straightened it primly. "Why don't you ask him the same question? Can we get back to work or do we not care to find this woman's murderer?"

Greg relented. "Fine. We will be having a conversation about this."

"No." Sherlock strode off, pulling his lens from his pocket.

\--

That fucking bastard.

That utter cock.

That-

John was seething. He couldn't even come up with anything else to call Sherlock that would ever be enough. Mary had not wanted him to go. Had asked him not to and he had argued until it had turned into a huge row. And for what? For Sherlock to look down at him and then dismiss him?

Now he had to slink back home, tail between his legs. She would know in a moment what had happened and then her smugness at being right would be unbearable. God.

And now here comes the guilt. He was a horrible person for thinking such things about his pregnant wife. He would have to endure the smugness. Ugh.

The cab pulled up at his address and he was reluctant to go in. He had a mad thought to tell the cabbie to take him back to Baker Street so that he could give Sherlock a good punch in the mouth. That might make him feel better.

He groaned as another thought occurred to him. Greg. Greg had seen the whole damn thing and he would want to talk about it. He was a good friend and that's what they did. Well, he could avoid him for a little while anyway.

He trudged up the steps and let himself into their flat, bracing for the inevitable.

"John? Are you back already?"

"Yeah. It was an easy one."

"It'd have to be. You've only been gone an hour." She came out of the bedroom and looked at him. "He sent you home, didn't he?"

John ignored her in favor of acting like he was looking for something beside his chair. "Have you seen my book?"

"John." She wasn't going to give this up.

"Yeah?"

"Did he send you home?" Damn her and damn Sherlock and fuck them all!

"Yeah. Said he didn't need me there after all."

She smiled at him. Pity. Fucking pity. "See, I told you that he would be alright on his own. Coming to bed?"

"In a minute. Not quite ready yet."

She kissed him on the cheek and headed back to the bedroom. "You'll be happier if you just tell him that you can't do it. He won't think not to ask otherwise. You know how he is."

John scowled at her back. Yeah. He knew exactly how he is.

\--

The case had been mind-numbingly obvious and Sherlock had not bothered to hide his contempt as he laid it out for Lestrade. He had barely allowed him to ask a clarifying question before barking "For god's sake, text me if your simple brain can't understand the most obvious of clues. I can't abide your prattle for another moment." He had left the scene almost at a run to hail a cab.

John had looked as bad as he himself felt. He couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction in the knowledge. Good. He deserved it. Deserved every shred of misery that woman brought him. He didn't need him around anyway.

His chest felt tight. Why was the bloody cabbie taking so long? He needed to get home and have a cigarette, he was craving one. Craving more. No. He wouldn't go down that road again. He had lasted without it for two years on his own, he could do it now.

Finally, the cab pulled over and Sherlock bounded out, flinging money behind him. He jerked open the door and pounded up the steps, heedless of the late hour. Cigarette and then violin. Mrs. Hudson was going to murder him.

He didn't care.

\--

John had finally got to sleep, hours after he got home, but it felt like he hadn't slept at all. All he could see when he closed his eyes was Sherlock's cold and hateful face. It hurt more than he would ever let on.

His final nightmare that had banished sleep completely was a replay of The Fall. He hadn't had that dream since Sherlock had returned. He awoke drenched in sweat and after wrestling his way out of the twisted sheets, he had stood under the shower for a long time.

He tried to have a wank to relax but that failed spectacularly. Dark curls and flashing grey eyes kept making an appearance in his fantasy and he finally just gave up, slamming a fist against the tile. It hurt. Mary would know and would ask what was wrong. He couldn't tell her and it would devolve into an argument.

He turned off the water and got out to start his day. Might as well get this over with.

\--

He really thought Mrs. Hudson was going to kill him this time. Or throw something at him. He had been correct in assuming that she would not appreciate the screeching violin at 2am and she certainly had not approved of the lingering odor of cigarette smoke that now permeated the flat.

"Sherlock Holmes, I swear I am going to call your mother if you don't stop this! It reeks up here!" She bustled around, opening windows and gathering up the collection of mugs that sat around on all of the flat surfaces. "Or I am going to call John and have him-"

"You will _not_ call John!" He surprised himself at the snarl that erupted from his mouth. Mrs. Hudson stopped what she was doing and glared at him, hands on her hips.

"And you, young man, you will not take that tone with me. Why can't I call John? I haven't seen him for weeks."

"John now has a family and does not have time to spare as my _keeper_ ," he grimaced at the word. "He has made it quite clear that Mary and the baby are his priority and all others are secondary." _Or didn't matter at all._

"Oh, Sherlock. What did you do?"

"Why is it always me that does something? For once, can't it be him? I've not done anything, he chose-" He bit that last thought off before he could give it life. "Please go away, Mrs. Hudson." He suddenly felt exhausted and wanted to lie down.

"Oh, love. I'm sure he'll come around. It just takes time to get these things sorted."

"I don't think he wants things to be sorted." Now he just sounded petulant and childish. He might as well stomp his feet and scream at the unfairness of it all. "I'll clean those up."

"Now that is a fib and I know it. Fine, I'll leave for now, but I'm coming back up later to clean some of this mess up."

He dismissed her with a wave. Whatever it took to make her just go away. He was so tired. A shower and then bed. No more thinking about him.

\--

John hated being right.

Mary had asked him about his hand and he tried to make something up, but it sounded weak even to him. He finally just told her that he got angry about the way Sherlock had acted and had stupidly slammed his hand against the wall. And then it got worse.

It seemed that bringing Sherlock's name up had unleashed something in Mary that he hadn't expected. "Well at least he gets a reaction out of you, even if it’s trying to break your bloody hand."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It's like you're not even here! You're too busy brooding about Sherlock and thinking about the glory days that I can't even get you to hold a conversation over breakfast."

"I am not brooding!"

"Oh yes you are. And I can't tell if you miss running around with him or shagging him more."

John sucked in a huge breath. They had talked about this. He had told her time and again that they had never been like that. Not by his choice, but it was true all the same. It was a normal thing for her to ask and she had dismissed it while Sherlock was still dead, but after he had come back she had brought it up a few more times. She had always laughed about it in the past but she was not laughing now.

"For fuck's sake, I told you we were never like that! The man's probably asexual and even if he's not, he sure as hell wasn’t interested in me."

"What about that speech at our own wedding, hmm? And I have never seen you so jealous as when you thought that he was dating Janine. You can admit it, John. I already know."

"There is nothing to admit. At one time, I may have wished it but that was long before we met. Before he-" John couldn't complete that sentence. His blood was boiling now. How dare she? How dare she accuse him after all that she had done? "Why are you asking this now? Are you going to go and shoot him again?"

"Oh, bring that up again will you? I thought we were done with that. You said you were moving past it and we were going to do this, but you are still stuck on Sherlock fucking Holmes. You always will be. I guess that makes us even."

Even? What?

"What do you mean it makes us even?" John had a sinking feeling that he knew where she was going with this and he wasn't sure that he actually wanted to hear it.

"I was still seeing David until the wedding. I figured if you could see your ex, I could see mine."

"You what?" John felt like his head was going to implode. A horrific thought occurred to him. They had always used protection and it had been a total shock when Mary had fallen pregnant. "Is the baby even mine?" He barely croaked the words out.

Her face fell and she seemed to deflate, realizing what she had done. She had been wrong about this. So wrong. And now she had confessed everything. "I don't know."

"You don't know? That's the answer you're going with? Since we always, always used protection, I would have to say that's a big bloody no!" He lashed out a foot and upset the side table next to the chair. It fell over, papers scattering. "I'm done."

"John-" Her voice was pleading but it was too late.

"No." He held up a finger. "I chose you. I bloody chose you and this is what I get. I'm done."

He stormed into the bedroom and left her standing in the middle of the sitting room. He packed a few changes of clothes and grabbed any toiletries he might need. His gun went into the bottom of the bag.

Mary was still in the same place that he left her. She looked upset but there was no sign of tears. "You're going back to him aren't you?"

"No. No I'm not because you broke that too. I hope you're happy. Don't try to contact me, I'll be in touch."

John stomped down the steps and called for a cab. While he waited, he phoned Harry and she agreed to let him come and stay. She sounded sober, so it would do until he found his own flat.

He had a flash that he might go back to Baker Street but there was no way that Sherlock wanted him there, not after the way that he had acted last night. John was too raw and there was no way that he would be able to cover up the way he felt, still felt after all this time.

It wasn't worth chancing it.

\--

Sherlock woke when his mobile vibrated off the bedside table and onto the floor with a clatter. He groped for it and blinked blearily at the screen. Mycroft.

"What?"

"So nice to speak to you too, brother dear."

"I don't have time for this, Mycroft. What do you want?"

"It seems that the Watsons have had a bit of a domestic."

"And why exactly would I care about that?"

"It led to Doctor Watson packing a bag and going to stay with his sister. I suspect that Mrs. Watson has finally informed him that the child is not his."

Sherlock sat straight up in bed. How had he not seen this? He thought back, trying to see the clues. Ah. David.

"It's David's."

"Getting slow, little brother. It would have saved you time if you had been able to figure that one out before you allowed him to get married."

"Piss off, Mycroft. I didn't _allow_ him to do anything."

"You encouraged his forgiveness. No. You believed that he would not forgive her. You were counting on it. Oh, Sherlock."

Pity coming from Mycroft was the most detestable thing that he could conceive of.

"Fuck you."

Mycroft chuckled. "It might benefit you to give Doctor Watson a call if he needs somewhere to stay."

"I don't need advice, especially from you."

"There it is anyway, free of charge. Try not to mess this up again, Sherlock." Mycroft rang off.

Sherlock flung his phone at the wall and it hit with a crunch. It didn't matter, he would just buy a new one with Mycroft's card.

\--

Harry's flat was only a step above the drab bedsit that he had rented before moving to Baker Street. Thankfully she seemed to be handling her sobriety well because being trapped in such a small space with her would have been unbearable otherwise. He knew it wasn't fair to have such uncharitable thoughts when she had agreed to let him stay there, but he was equal opportunity pissed off at the world at the moment.

She had greeted him at the door with a warm hug and didn't ask too many questions. He was more grateful for that than the offer of her couch. He didn't have it in him to hash over the whole mess again just yet and she seemed to have picked up on that.

He had put his bag down and slumped onto the couch while she went to make tea. It was made just the way he liked and he almost felt like crying. He had sunk to crying into his tea. Great. He felt like a great big hole had been scooped out of his chest and he didn't know what to do.

The thought to call Sherlock came again unbidden. That was out of the question. Absolutely not.

Harry was sitting in the armchair studiously not looking at him, just waiting for him to speak. At least she wasn’t pitying him. He wouldn't be able to take that and probably would have a breakdown right there on her squashy, second-hand couch.

He cleared his throat. "Thanks for this. For letting me stay, I mean."

"Of course, Johnny. I would never turn you away."

This made him almost tear up again. Christ, he was a mess. "Yeah. Um, you seem to be doing well."

"I am. Six months this past weekend."

"Good for you, Harry. I mean it."

She knew that he was stalling. "Johnny, what happened?"

He choked out a laugh. "Well, it seems that since Mary thought that Sherlock and I were shagging before we got married, she thought she'd get some of her own. Oh and by the way, the baby's not mine."

Her eyes widened in shock, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh, Johnny-"

He held up a hand to cut her off. He had to finish. "So, I left. I just grabbed some stuff and left her standing there." He swallowed hard. "I just couldn't stand to be in the same room as her and after all that she has done, she had the nerve to accuse me-" His voice was rising and he closed his eyes tight to get a handle on his temper. Harry didn't know everything. He hoped that she thought he was talking about cheating on him and not fucking shooting Sherlock in the chest.

She reached over and took his hand. Sympathy filled her eyes and he hated it, but he had to endure it. "What are you going to do? Call Sherlock?"

This produced another strangled laugh. "Like he would even talk to me. I quit going on cases with him because Mary asked me to and now I, I just don't even know."

"This might be for the best, you know."

"How the hell is any of this for the best?"

Harry shrugged and then looked at him seriously. "The reason that I didn't come to your wedding is because I knew that you were marrying the wrong person. She would have done if Sherlock hadn't come back, but we both know that she was never the one that had your heart. Not completely anyway.”

"You never said."

She shrugged again. "And I see that you're not arguing the fact. Johnny, I destroyed what I had with Clara because I am a drunk and I was selfish. I couldn't put on a happy face for you and that was selfish of me as well. I know we've been rocky these last few years..." He snorted. "...Ok, fine. Last few decades. But I do care about you and I knew that I wouldn't be able to see it right in front of me and not say anything. So I just didn't go."

"You do know that Sherlock and I never, that he never-"

"I know. But you're in love with him, whatever form that takes. You should try to talk to him. You'll hate yourself if you don't."

He nodded. She was right. "I will. But not right now. I need some time to get myself sorted first."

She patted his hand and rose, taking their mugs with her. Harry had grown up a lot. He just needed time and then he would talk to him.

Unfortunately, time was not on John's side. Trust Sherlock to guarantee that.

\--

Sherlock smoked his cigarettes. He played his violin. He purchased a new mobile on Mycroft's account. He brooded on his conversation with Mycroft. Fucking Mycroft. What would he know about this anyway? He'd never had a romantic relationship in his life but, to be fair, neither had Sherlock.

Oh, he'd had plenty of one night stands, preferably on neutral club territory or at the other person's flat, but never a real relationship. Most people were too dull to tolerate them on a daily basis, much less sleep with them.

But he would with John.

No. Kill that train of thought. John was straight. John married a woman. John's wedding that he helped plan while he was dying inside, trying not to show it. He thought he had succeeded rather well. It was his best bit of shamming yet.

Sometimes he wished that he hadn't tried so hard. What would have happened if he had let it slip to John? Would he have been pitying? Would he let him down easy? That sounded about right.

To hell with this. He was just going to text him.

**Alright? SH**

**Mycroft told you, didn't he?**

**He might have. SH**

**Nosy bastard.**

**True. SH**

**I'm referring to both of you.**

Sherlock smiled. That sounded more like the old John.

**Dinner? SH**

**Sure. Chinese? 7?**

**I'll order it in. SH**

And that was that. John would come over for dinner. Sherlock would propose that he quit being ridiculous and come home and they would both be back where they belong.

\--

John arrived at Baker Street promptly at 7. He could smell the food as soon as he opened the door and his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten all day, except for some biscuits with Harry.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to be out, so he went straight upstairs. Sherlock had actually cleared the kitchen table and there were plates and utensils laid out. It was weird.

"Hey."

Sherlock turned from the window where he was finishing his cigarette. "Hello."

"I thought you quit."

"I did. Then I didn't." Sherlock shrugged. John rolled his eyes. It just wasn't on to start an argument thirty seconds after arriving, so he let it go. At least he'd opened the window.

"This smells good."

"Yes. I got those dumplings you like." Small talk. Were they really that broken? Sherlock was doing his best not to fidget and to look calm and collected. What he really wanted to do was grab John by the shoulders and scream "Pick me! Pick me you great idiot!"

"Ta." John looked through the containers for a moment before deciding to rip the plaster off quickly instead of picking at it. "What did Mycroft tell you about Mary and me?"

Sherlock hadn't expected him to just dive in but he shouldn't been surprised. John would dance around things forever but once he made up his mind to deal with something, he would face it head on. He had to be careful.

"He told me that you left with a bag packed and went to stay with Harry." There. That was true and non-confrontational. Well done.

"That I did. Did he tell you why?"

"Not in so many words." This was the part that Sherlock didn't want to mention but it seemed that John was bound and determined to. He couldn't lie to him.

"What did he say?" John was starting to get angry now. He knew where this was going and if it was true that Sherlock knew about David and the baby and then didn't tell him, he might do more than punch him.

"He thought it might have something to do with Mary's infidelity." There it was. He had said it. The truth was it was one of the reasons that he confronted David the way that he had. He had suspected but he was too afraid of what he might find if he looked too hard. He should have looked.

John just exploded.

"That's just fucking great!" He threw his hands in the air and then his voice grew deadly quiet. "You knew. You fucking bastard. You knew and you let me- The baby's not even mine. Did your great big brain twig onto that?"

Sherlock wasn't going to stand there and take all of the blame for this. "I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure and I didn't want to tell you. I thought I saw something with David but I wasn't sure because I didn't look hard enough."

"You rip apart every person that you meet and you're telling me that the great fucking Sherlock Holmes missed this one because he didn't _look hard enough_?" John had moved past the deadly quiet phase and was out and out shouting at this point.

"You chose her!" Sherlock roared, bringing John's tirade to an end. "You chose her and what was I supposed to do about it? You would have never forgiven me if I'd been wrong so I didn't say anything. I didn't want to see it so I didn't."

John just stared at him. "I chose her? I didn't have a choice! You left me to go and play your games. What else was I supposed to do?" He was breathing hard, hands clenched at his side with the need to hit something or someone.

Sherlock looked at him wearily. "You were supposed to be here when I got back. It just took longer than it should have."

"So I was just supposed to wait around here in a dead man's flat on the off chance that he might actually. Not. Be. Dead?" The last word was punctuated with a kick to the often abused client chair. It gave up a leg this time as it skittered across the floor.

Sherlock sank down on the sofa. That was exactly what John was supposed to do. He was supposed to have waited for him. And he didn't.

No. He would not let John belittle what he had sacrificed to keep him safe even if he had never told him. Those were stories that no one needed to know. The only person that even had an inkling was Mycroft, and Sherlock had managed to keep the worst of it away from even him. He needed to push back.

He sprang up from his seat on the sofa and strode across the floor until he was almost chest to chest with John. "You have no idea what you're talking about." His voice was low and dangerous. "You have no idea what it was like when I was gone."

John didn't back down. "Then why don't you tell me, Sherlock?"

"Because you don't deserve to know." There it was.

John jerked back as if he'd been slapped. "You know what? Sod this. I'm leaving." He headed for the door and practically ran down the stairs.

"That's what you're good at." Sherlock's voice was too low for him to hear.

\--

This was a danger night if there ever was one. Sherlock itched to ring one of the last dealers that would sell to him but he wouldn't. He couldn't do that. There was something else that he could do that almost gave him the same high, but was far less addictive.

While he had been away, it had become harder and harder to resist the needle. The loneliness had affected him more than he cared to admit. He had caved once when he'd been in Amsterdam, tracking down Mrs. Hudson's shooter, and he had hated himself for it. It wasn't worth it.

When he had been in Berlin, he had run across an underground fighting ring.

He had been active with boxing all throughout uni and was proficient in several forms of martial arts, including Baritsu, so he was confident that he could hold his own. He watched how it worked for several nights before putting the initials of his alias on the roster.

The first fight was a revelation. The primal need to use fists and feet to take down an opponent. The adrenaline rush was almost on the same level as cocaine but the only side effects were bumps and bruises. A split lip. A black eye. It helped him stifle the cravings and he started looking for clubs like that in every city that he went to. He didn't go every night. He also made sure that he didn't overstay his welcome and make a name for himself.

The money that he won was an added bonus. It helped  immensely when he was low on funds and out of contact with Mycroft, which was often. Never too much at one place, but it was enough so that he could finish what he had set out to do.

He had not looked for anything since he had come back to London. He thought he would have no need of it. He was wrong.

He sent a text to a member of his homeless network. If such a thing existed in London, they would know about it. About thirty minutes later, he was rewarded with a location. He left the Belstaff behind because it was too recognizable, pulling a leather jacket on over his shirt and trousers instead. He grabbed his mobile and some of his emergency cash and went to work off his hurt and frustration.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shout out to Fight Club here! Here we go....

Chapter 3

John had given himself a week after the argument with Sherlock before finding his own flat. He probably could have stayed at the flat that he had shared with Mary, but he needed a fresh start. She had left a forwarding address for the divorce papers and so the flat was standing empty.

She had also included a document stating that the paternity test had confirmed that he was conclusively not the father of the child she carried. That was it, then. He was viciously angry and disappointed but he was relieved to know for sure.

He had notified their landlord and he had agreed to work with him on getting out of the lease. It had been so easy that John suspected Mycroft may have had something to do with it. He just didn't give a shit anymore. If Mycroft didn't have anything better to do than break John's lease, more power to him.

Mary had resigned her job at the clinic so John was able to keep working there until he found something else. It was hard ignoring the stares of his coworkers who were dying to know what had happened. He just kept his head down and saw his patients like always. He needed the routine. He even kept biking to work and then going for a jog some days. It helped burn off energy so he could sleep at night. Well, it helped a bit.

Nights were still a problem. He'd had the same dream about The Fall several nights in a row and the lack of sleep was starting to get to him. He had eyed some sleep aids but they would just make him feel like crap in the morning and he had already accomplished that, thank you.

Alcohol didn't help either. He tried having a few drinks each night, but they only seemed to make the dreams more vivid. It didn't stop him from trying though. He was going to have to rein it in before it became a problem.

His phone was silent again. He hadn't seen anyone in a few weeks and he certainly hadn't heard from Sherlock. He didn't expect to. He was going to have to move on. Again. He didn't know if he had it in him. Not when Sherlock was alive and well at Baker Street.

That is why it was such a surprise when he received a text from Greg one afternoon inviting him out for a pint. John jumped on the chance to not have to drink alone and confirmed with him immediately. It would be nice to see Greg again. He could check and see how Molly was doing too.

He wouldn't ask about Sherlock.

\--

The first night that Sherlock went to the address that his network had found for him was promising. He observed and saw that it was pretty much the same as any other. There was one person that took the bets and refereed. He had a second that was in charge of the lists and kept an eye out for the police. Nothing new.

He stood back and placed a small bet just to fit in. When the tall blond man took his money, he met Sherlock's eyes and grinned.

"You're new here."

"Just checking things out."

"Name's Tyler. Tyler Gentry." The man put out a hand for Sherlock to shake and when he did, the man held it just a few seconds longer than was necessary. It was deliberate. Sherlock tried not to roll his eyes. It wouldn't do to piss him off too quickly.

"Nice to meet you."

"You're Sherlock Holmes."

"Yep." He popped the last letter, hoping that the man would take the hint and move on.

"Can't wait to see you out there, Holmes." Another grin and he moved on.

Sherlock didn't put his name on the list that night, but he knew that he would be back out the next.

\--

Sherlock had finally found something that would take the edge off and curtail the urge to seek out a 7% solution. He used his fists and knees and elbows to take down anyone that he went up against. His long limbs and height gave him an advantage and he was earning respect. He hadn't lost yet in the three bouts that he had fought in.

He had come away with a few cuts and bruises that he couldn't easily cover up. This had caused Mrs. Hudson to tut over him until he shooed her away. Lestrade kept staring at him when he thought Sherlock wasn't looking.

He gave no explanation.

He ignored Mycroft's texts and calls and he had thrown himself into cases that came through his blog or email and he took whatever Lestrade had to give him. For now he would fight and bleed and patch himself up to go again. He needed it. It helped him not think about what he had lost.

\--

John met Greg a few nights after they were supposed to because a case had come up and Greg had to reschedule. It was a relief to just sit and have a conversation. John felt like he hadn't spoken to anyone but patients and staff for weeks. And that was the truth, if he thought about it.

"Hey, Greg. Long time no see."

“Too right." Greg already had a pint and gestured for the waitress to bring another for John. "Where are you living now?"

"I found a flat near the clinic. It's small but it's pretty cheap and I don't need much anyway."

Greg hmm'd at this. He waited until John had received his pint and managed to drink a bit of it before he hit him with what he had really wanted to talk to him about.

"Have you heard from Sherlock?"

John blinked at him. Greg had to know that they weren't speaking by the sheer fact that John had gotten his own flat instead of moving back to 221B. "Nope. Haven't for almost a month. Why?"

"I'm worried about him."

"Since when is that a new development?"

Greg swallowed a drink from his glass. "This is different. He was acting odd when he was showing up at crime scenes and now, well, I don't know what he's up to but it looks like someone beat the shit out of him. I kind of wondered if the two of you had gotten into it."

John bristled at the implication at first, but he had to admit it wasn't that far-fetched a conclusion. It wouldn't have been the first time. "Wasn't me, mate. What are you thinking? Drugs?"

Greg sighed. "I'm not sure. I've seen him when he's high but this is completely different. It's him, but the last time I saw him he had a split lip and a pretty impressive shiner. His knuckles had some cuts on them too and it's just not like him to risk his hands. I mean, he wears those gloves for a reason."

John nodded. Sherlock had always been careful of his hands. He always wore gloves when they went out and he used stupidly expensive hand cream. Something was definitely going on. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I thought you might be able to find out what he's up to."

John snorted. "You might as well call Mycroft. He's not going to tell me anything."

"That's the thing, I don't think he's been talking to anyone. He's so quiet now it's a little unnerving. He just comes in, does his thing and leaves. No snark. No insults. I thought you might be able to just keep an eye out."

"You want me to follow him."

Greg gave him a rueful grin. "Well, yeah. If anyone can follow him, it's you. So will you?"

John thought it over, taking another sip of his beer. Why the hell not? He'd got nothing else on.

"Fine. I'll do it. But if he catches me, I'm telling him it was your idea."

Greg tipped his glass toward him in a salute. "Cheers to that."

\--

Sherlock pulled on the leather jacket and checked his appearance in the mirror. His eye was healing but he would want to avoid another blow there if he could. His ribs were still a bit sore, but he'd dealt with worse. He was good to go.

When he made his way to the meeting place, Tyler was already there. He greeted him with a wave and a grin. Sherlock returned the wave with a nod. The man had been shamelessly flirting with him for days and surprisingly, he didn't mind. The attention was nice and gave him something else to concentrate on. And Tyler was not entirely stupid.

He was considering what Tyler was offering. It had been far too long since he'd had someone else's hands on him and if he couldn't have John, then why not?

\--

John was waiting across the street when he saw Sherlock exit the flat and get in a cab. He wasn't wearing his usual coat. He was wearing one that John had never seen before but he guessed it was probably part of his disguise wardrobe.

He had paid the cabbie to wait there and when Sherlock left, he told him to follow his cab. He instructed him to stay well back because he knew that Sherlock would be able to pick up a tail easily.

When Sherlock's cab stopped, John told the cabbie to keep going until he was about two blocks away before getting out. He trotted part of the way back and then slowed to a walk so that he wouldn't stand out. He got there just in time to see Sherlock disappear into an alley. He peered around the corner and saw him enter the side door of a brick building. It looked like a storage warehouse of some kind.

He waited to see if he would come back out but there was no sign of him. He saw other men showing up and entering the same building but he couldn't figure out what they were doing. There was one way to find out.

He opened the door and there was a man waiting there with a clipboard. "Spectator or participant?"

John thought quickly. "Spectator."

"That'll be a tenner. Enjoy the show." John dug the cash out and handed it over.

Show?

\--

Sherlock was up for the third bout. He looked over his opponent carefully. He could tell that the man favored his left shoulder and his right knee was weak. He would keep that in mind.

He never wrapped his hands. He wanted to feel the sting in his knuckles the next day. He would flex his fingers just to split the small cuts open, not letting them heal so that he could feel the pain.

It was bare feet and bare chest. Those were the rules. That would work.

He put his hands up and moved in.

\--

John figured it out immediately. He wasn't a stranger to this sport. He had seen it plenty of times in the army when the boredom became too great. Most of the officers would turn a blind eye as long as no one got seriously hurt. They could go on patrol with cuts and bruises.

He had even taken a turn or two just because he could. It had mostly been for fun and to burn off excess energy that would have turned into real fights, so money was not usually involved.

He saw plenty of money exchange hands here. He kept to the edge of the crowd, keeping an eye out for Sherlock. He wouldn't have taken him for a gambler, but then it seemed like he didn't know him as well as he thought.

He didn't see any sign of him so he crept forward so that he could see what was going on in the center of the crowd. His height had him at a disadvantage, but he had no problem shouldering his way through.

The fight had just begun but it was already almost over. One man lay on the ground trying to swing at whatever part of the other man that he could reach, while the other one straddled him, effectively pinning him to the ground. The man that was on top and winning was slim with dark hair. His pale skin gleamed with sweat and his back was covered in scars that trailed down below the waistband of his trousers.

He landed another punch that rocked the man's head to the side and the loser finally tapped three times to give up. The bloke that John had noticed collecting money went to the center and pulled the dark haired man to his feet. John caught a glimpse of his grinning face and ducked behind another spectator before he was seen.

Oh. God.

It was Sherlock.

\--

"Well done, Holmes."

Tyler always called him Holmes. Sherlock didn't mind. It made this easier. He pressed a roll of bills into Sherlock's hand, giving him a wink.

"How many more?"

"We've got three on the schedule. Why?"

"Find me when you're done."

Tyler raised his eyebrows and turned back to collect slips and make payouts to the winners.

\--

John left as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. He sent Greg a text to see if he was free. He had to talk to someone about this and it was Greg's fault he was here in the first place.

God. He couldn't get the image out of his head. Sherlock's naked back flexing as he pounded his fist into the other man's face. It was an incredible thing to see.

And those scars. John had seen scars like those before. They had to be from a whip or something similar. They ran down the the length of his back and disappeared into his poncy bespoke trousers. Because who else but Sherlock Holmes would choose to fight in trousers that cost as much as all of John's wardrobe put together.

He hadn't had the scars when he wore a sheet to Buckingham Palace, so he must have got them while he was away. Maybe John had been too harsh with what he had said to him. Those didn't look like a game at all.

He leaned against a wall in the alley, waiting for a response. When it finally came, Greg told him that he couldn't get away. Maybe tomorrow night? John sent him a text back and looked up just in time to see Sherlock walking out the door.

He saw him lean against the brick next to the door and pull out a cigarette to light up. If John didn't know any better, it looked like he was waiting for someone.

\--

Sherlock took a drag and then exhaled. What was he doing? He hadn't done this in years. His blood was still up from the fight and he just felt like letting go. John was gone now. They'd both had a hand in it but it was done. It wouldn't have worked anyway. Sherlock had wanted him so long that friendship wouldn't have been enough. He knew that John didn't think of him that way.

Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. He'd gone for years without sex and he could continue to do so after.

So why not?

\--

John watched as the blond man came out of the door after it had emptied of all of the other fighters and spectators. He locked the door and walked over to where Sherlock was still leaning against the wall. Sherlock had been waiting for him apparently. Why? Was it for a case?

He watched as the two men spoke, standing fairly close. They seemed pretty friendly and he felt an ugly twist of jealousy run through him. Sherlock was smiling. What was he doing?

The man leaned in closer and suddenly they were kissing. John felt like a fist had just tightened around his heart and twisted. He watched for a few more moments and Sherlock was definitely kissing the man back. He was even pulling the man closer, gripping his elbows.

Sherlock didn't do this. He didn't.

John turned his back and fled.

\--

Sherlock pulled back from the kiss. It was...nice. He hadn't kissed anyone with intent for a long time so it was hard to compare.

Tyler definitely had enjoyed it. His pupils were dilated and his pulse was elevated according to the fingers that Sherlock had on his wrist.

"So now what?" Sherlock had been rebuffing his advances so he couldn't blame him for asking for clarity.

"Your place or mine?"

"Yours. I have a flatmate."

"Fine. I don't."

_Not anymore._

Sherlock called for a cab with Tyler trailing along behind him. He pulled him in for another kiss while they waited just to make sure. Tyler dipped his hands under Sherlock's jacket and ran them up his back.

Oh, yes. He was going to do this.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be ok. Promise. They're both just being idiots.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

John was either currently having a heart attack or he was going to pass out. He had just started walking in the general direction of his flat, forgetting all about a cab. What the hell had he just seen?

He stopped on the corner to wait for the light, trying to slow his breathing. He was on the verge of having a panic attack and that would be a disaster this far from home. He was getting it under control by the time the light turned so he tucked his hands into his pockets and kept moving.

What was Sherlock doing? John was having a very hard time wrapping his head around all that he had witnessed. He’d been relieved to see that Sherlock hadn't turned back to drugs, although fighting for cash wasn't all that great either. Trust Sherlock to find a hobby that left him bloody every night.

But that kiss. It wasn't just a kiss. Just a kiss had been that fairly chaste kiss with Janine for a case. No. That was a kiss that lead to other things.

In all the time that John had known Sherlock, how had he missed this? He had assumed that Sherlock's disdain for the population in general extended to all things sexual as well. Evidently he was wrong.

So what did that mean? Had he never noticed because all Sherlock was interested in was a quick shag? He had definitely never brought anyone home and who knows what he got up to while he was gone.

With all of this new data rattling around in his head, John decided there was only one thing left to do.

He'd have to go and talk to him in the morning. It was time to come clean.

\--

This was wrong.

This was so wrong.

It had been...nice. Physically. But now, as Sherlock lay on his back looking at the man in his bed it just felt so unsatisfying. This was why he didn't do this. He was such an idiot. He never should have asked Tyler back to the flat.

It would have been easier if he could just get up and leave. Well, there was another bedroom.

He slid out of bed carefully, so as not to wake Tyler. That was something that he just did not want to deal with right now. He found his pants where they had been dropped and pulled them back on.

Standing there next to the bed, he studied the man sleeping there. He thought about just shaking him awake and telling him to get out, but he needed the club. He needed the rush of adrenaline and the ache in his muscles the next day. It would be far more trouble to search for another group in London than to just let him sleep and deal with it in the morning.

He moved carefully, avoiding the creak in the floorboards and snagged his dressing gown from where it hung on the back of the door. Sherlock shrugged it on, tying it tightly, still undecided. He could just lie on the sofa. He had spent plenty of nights there. But he was exhausted and the idea of a bed was too appealing. He knew Mrs. Hudson kept the bed in John's- no the spare bedroom made up so it would be convenient.

Perhaps Tyler would take the hint and leave in the morning without too much of a fuss.

\--

John hadn't slept all night. He kept running over what he wanted to say to Sherlock in his head and trying not to think of all of the possible outcomes.  He could just hear him now:

"It was for a case, John! Don't be ridiculous. As if I would partake in such banal behavior."

"It was an experiment. Obvious."

Or the worst one of all. "Of course I have sex. I am a healthy, 38 year-old male. I just wasn't interested in _you_."

That was his worst fear. What if he laid his heart at Sherlock's feet and it turned out that he just didn't want _him_. That would be devastating.

It was a likely possibility. As likely as all of the other scenarios. It was already 6am and the sun was rising, so he showered and shaved quickly to at least try to look like he hadn't been brooding all night like a teenage girl.

He headed to Baker Street to face his fate.

\--

Sherlock awoke to the sound of the shower running. He had been fitfully dozing so he felt sluggish and still very tired. The little sleep that he had been able to get had been full of flashes of what he and Tyler had done last night, but instead of Tyler, he kept seeing John's face. He ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, cursing under his breath.

Idiot. Such an idiot. He should just talk to John and get it over with. This was utterly ridiculous. If John rejected him, so be it. At least he would know. He hated not knowing.

Just a few more minutes and Tyler would leave and he could go downstairs. He closed his eyes again and fell into a troubled doze.

\--

John still had a key so he let himself in. Hopefully he would be able to get upstairs without disturbing Mrs. Hudson. He didn't think his nerves were up to dealing with her this morning. He promised himself that he would come back and have a proper visit later.

He could hear the shower running as he went up the last flight of stairs. Sherlock was home and up then. Good. John had half expected him to still be in bed or perhaps not even there. He thought maybe he had gone back to that other bloke's flat or something like that because he surely wouldn't have brought him back here. The very thought made his stomach knot. A small voice in his mind said, "Maybe he just went straight home. Maybe it was just a kiss." He shook his head.

The shower turned off and John could hear the door that led into Sherlock's bedroom from the bathroom open and close. Just a few more minutes then, he was getting dressed. He seated himself on the sofa to wait. It was either that or pace like a crazy person.

Sherlock's bedroom door opened and John opened his mouth to call out a greeting that died in an odd choked sound. That was not Sherlock. The man from last night was walking out of Sherlock's bedroom, still drying his hair with a towel. At least he was dressed, John thought a bit hysterically.

John considered jumping up and running down the stairs and out into the street until he got back home. He considered walking right up to the tall, blond and handsome and punching him right in the face. What he finally did when the man looked up and saw him sitting there was give him a tight smile.

Tyler grinned at him. "Hello there. You a friend of Holmes?"

Holmes. He fucking called him Holmes.

"You could say that. To be honest, I'm not sure anymore."

Tyler looked at him, confused. Then something occurred to him. "Please tell me that you're not his boyfriend. I had no idea, mate-"

John cut him off. "No. Nothing like that. In fact that describes everything fucking perfectly. Nothing. I'm nothing. Just pretend I was never here."

John finally acted on his first instinct and ran. He heard Mrs. Hudson call out to him as he slammed down the stairs and out the front, but he couldn't stop. He made it about a block before the black car pulled up next to him at the curb.

He could just scream. Fucking Mycroft. The window of the car rolled down.

"John. It would be beneficial for you to get in the car."

"Yeah, well, it might not be so beneficial for you. Not really in the mood, Mycroft."

"Get in the car, John." John stopped. He knew that he would be followed all the way home, so fuck it. Might as well get this over with now.

\--

Sherlock heard voices downstairs.

He blinked himself awake and listened carefully. Who was Tyler speaking with? Mrs. Hudson? No, that was a male voice.

Shit.

 _John_.

He froze. What should he do?

While he was deliberating his options, John made the decision for him. He heard footsteps thunder down the steps and then the slam of the front door.

Sherlock closed his eyes and dug his fingers into his hair. God. Why had he not just kicked Tyler out last night? What on earth had made him think that a quick shag would help?

He could admit that it had been pleasant but it was not what he wanted. Not what he needed. Not John.

He could hear Tyler still wandering around downstairs. Ugh. He was going to have to deal with this too.

He got up and after making sure that his dressing gown was securely tied, made his way downstairs.

\--

John slid into the seat facing Mycroft and put on his best sullen face. He was not happy about this and he would give no pretense that he wanted to see, let alone speak, to any Holmeses in the near future.

Mycroft gave him a once over and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Oh nothing. You have not been sleeping well and you seem to have had quite a shock. I suppose my brother is to blame for all of the above?"

"Sherlock is a grown man. He can do whatever he wants. It's not like I have any say in the matter. Not anymore."

"On the contrary. I believe you would have a very large say if the two of you could actually hold a conversation."

John snorted. "You're one to talk. How long did you know about Mary cheating on me?"

"It was not certain until after Sherlock had been shot and by then it would have been," he thought for a moment, "unkind to reveal it to you. Besides, the assumption was that you would come to your own conclusions and end the relationship right then and there. Always a conundrum, John."

"So this is my fault." It wasn't a question.

Mycroft laced his fingers together and leaned forward, eyes fixed on John's. "In a word, yes."

John sputtered. "Seriously? Because I decided to give it a go with the woman that I thought was carrying my child, oh yes I know about that too, you prat, this is all my fault?"

"You are just not seeing the big picture. I will attempt to explain." Mycroft heaved a sigh of frustration. "Mary never meant for Sherlock to survive. We thought, as a doctor, that you would realize that. We did not count on the blindness that you exhibited due to sentimentality."

"We? Sherlock thought I would leave Mary? He's the one that encouraged me to forgive her." John's voice was calm but his left hand was clenched in a fist. "The only reason I even listened to her was because he told me to."

Mycroft shook his head. "Far beyond my understanding, my brother has a weakness for you that causes him to try and do whatever it takes to make you happy. This was evident even before his absence and it is doubly so now. I am going to be very frank, John. Apologies in advance."

John was gaping at Mycroft by this point. Sherlock wasn’t like that. Was he? He gave a single nod for Mycroft to continue. He had to hear where this was going.

"The two of you are the most ridiculous human beings I have ever seen in my life." Mycroft had a pained look on his face, as if the very thought of discussing emotions was so distasteful that he just couldn't stand it. "I am only going to say this one more time. Go and speak to Sherlock. Have an actual conversation that does not end in one of you storming out or going to bloody his knuckles street fighting. Oh yes, I know exactly what he is doing and I actually admire his restraint."

"You know about the fighting? And what do you mean, his restraint?"

"Sherlock deals with his addiction every day. I do not understand it myself, but this barbaric pastime seems to help curb that need. Ever since you left, I have had him under constant surveillance waiting for him to try and sneak away to acquire his drug of choice."

"But he hasn't."

"No he has not. He believes that I do not know that he did this for the two years that he was absent as well. That is how he remained clean and I believe he did it because he knew that you would be disappointed in him if he didn't."

John hung his head, fiddling with a stray thread on his jacket. Then his head popped up, anger returning.

"What about that bloke I saw in his flat this morning? That sure as hell had nothing to do with restraint."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "If you are unable to figure that one out on your own, I certainly am not going to enlighten you. I have no wish to discuss my brother's sexual exploits." He mouth screwed up in a grimace. "Ah, perfect timing. Here you are, John."

John looked out the window and realized that they had just pulled up in front of his building. He opened the door and stopped when he felt a hand on his arm. Mycroft cleared his throat.

"Please remember what I said and do try to actually listen this time."

John nodded and got out of the car. It drove off, leaving him standing on the pavement.

\--

Sherlock slowly walked down the stairs and went into the kitchen. He could hear rattling as if Tyler was looking for something in the cupboards.

"Morning, Holmes." He smiled brightly. "Someone came by to see you, but he left in a bit of a hurry. Do you have any tea or coffee?"

"No." Sherlock's voice was flat. Tyler looked at him confused.

"That's fine," he said cautiously. "I can always pop down to the cafe and bring some up."

"No." Why was he still prattling on about tea? Didn't he know that Sherlock's life was turning upside down and that this was a horrible, horrible mistake and everything was ruined? More than ruined, he thought, total devastation. There's no way that John would talk to him now. Or would he? A small idea bloomed. He needed more data.

"What did he say to you?"

"Who? The short bloke?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth at this display of idiocy. No, the other ten _blokes_ that traipsed through this morning. "Yes. That one."

"Well, he was dead surprised to see me, that's for sure. At first I thought he might be your boyfriend, but he said no."

"What exactly did he say? Be precise."

"Okay, okay. Let me think. He said something about not being sure if he was a friend anymore and when I asked him if he was your boyfriend, he said he was nothing. That's about it."

Oh, John.

He took Tyler by the elbow. "Lovely time last night. Sorry to rush you out but I've got things to do." He practically dragged him down the stairs and shut the door in his face before he could go in for a kiss.

Mrs. Hudson was standing just outside her door, mouth hanging open. "Sherlock-"

"No time to chat Mrs. Hudson. Busy." He raced back up the steps, taking them two at a time. He needed to confirm something before he could even think about the next step.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

John walked up the stairs to his flat and let himself in.

He didn't know what to do with Mycroft's advice. What did he know about relationships anyway? What if Mycroft Holmes, even though he'd never admit it, was wrong? It couldn't be helped for now. He was too tired, physically and emotionally, to deal with anything right now. He also needed to talk to a non-Holmes before he did anything.

He walked straight up to his bedroom, plugged his phone into the charger and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

\--

Sherlock needed data. Specifically he needed data about John's past and the only person that he could think of that would have that information was Mike Stamford. Why had he not thought of this before? He jumped out of the cab as it pulled up to Bart's and hoped that Stamford would be in his office. He also hoped that he would cooperate with a minimum of discussion.

He found him in a hallway where he had obviously been on his way to get coffee. Sherlock joined him without saying a word. This was one of the reasons that he appreciated Stamford. He didn't try to fill the air with mindless small talk. He was perfectly happy to wait for Sherlock to state whatever was on his mind, listening carefully before replying. He was more intelligent than he let on and had earned a small amount of Sherlock's grudging respect.

They walked back to his office, sipping their coffee, as Sherlock ran over exactly what he wanted to ask Stamford. He knew that it was not generally acceptable to ask prying questions about a mutual friend's past, but he was out of options and needed to know. He would decide what to do next later.

Mike sat in the chair at his desk and motioned for Sherlock to take the chair opposite. He did, closing the door behind him first which caused Mike to raise his eyebrows. Sherlock decided to just dive right in.

"Exactly how long have you known John?"

Mike blinked at him, obviously caught unaware at this line of questioning. "We went to uni together, so almost twenty years."

"So you would have observed John's social interactions in that time period?"

Now Mike was looking downright confused. "I guess so, yeah." He cocked his head at Sherlock. "Are these questions going to get me in trouble? Because I honestly don't know where you're going with this."

Sherlock held up a placating hand. "Just a few more." He gave Mike an inquiring look, which was acknowledged with a nod to proceed.

"Were these social interactions strictly with women?" And there was the heart of the matter. He wondered if Mike would balk at such an intimate question. He bit his lip in impatience as Mike pondered how to answer.

"Yeah it was mostly women, but we all knew that John hooked up with a bloke here and there as well. Everyone knew that he was bi, nobody cared." Mike gave him a small smile because he was definitely smarter than he let on. "Finally making a move are you?"

Sherlock just stared at him. Then, why? He'd always felt such a connection with John, why had he, why had they... He covered his face with his hands and groaned.

"Let me guess." Mike began. "The two of you have been torturing yourselves for years and now that he's getting a divorce, you're thinking about giving it a go."

Sherlock just nodded his head, not looking up.

"Just be careful." Sherlock's head shot up and he looked at Mike's earnest face. "You two are great together but you also hurt each other more than anyone else I've ever seen." He paused. "You're also two of the most stubborn bloody gits I've ever met, so talk it out, will you? Go home and give it a good think. You'll work it out."

Sherlock rose from his seat, coffee forgotten. He started to leave and thought better of it. Hand on the door knob, he turned back to the desk.

"Thank you."

\--

Thank god for Greg Lestrade.

**Up for a pint? GL**

**God yes**

**8pm at the regular? GL**

**See you there**

As per usual, Greg had beaten him there. "Been waiting long?"

"Just got here." Greg waited until John had a pint in front of him before starting in with the questions. "So, what did you find out?"

John downed half the glass in a gulp before answering. "Well, it's definitely not drugs."

"That's good. That is good, right?" Greg looked concerned. "Just spit it out, what is it?"

"First, promise me that you will listen as a friend and not a copper. It's not drugs, but it's not technically legal, either."

Greg nodded, wondering what the hell Sherlock had got himself involved in.

"Underground fight club."

Greg gaped. He opened his mouth and then shut it. He finally took a drink before trying again. "You're serious?"

"Yep. Saw it myself." _And it was unbelievably hot_. He was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he had been so wrong not to think of Sherlock as a sexual creature. But with the image of Sherlock shining with sweat as he used his fists, also conjured the vision of the long scars that trailed down his back. That was another subject to be explored later.

Greg let out a low whistle. "Well, never would have guessed that. Suppose it's not too bad as long as he's careful."

"He was winning when I saw him, so I think he can hold his own."

The barmaid came by and John ordered a double whisky. He would need it to talk to about what he was really here for. Greg raised his eyebrows. "Looking to get properly pissed?"

"Just call it liquid courage. I need to ask you some stuff and you've got to swear that you won't take the piss or anything." The whisky arrived and he gulped it down, chasing it with a few swallows of beer. "You've known Sherlock for a while, right?"

"Yeah, about ten years or so. Why?"

"Have you ever known him to date anyone or, I don't know, even show some interest?"

Greg thought about it for a few moments. "Well, yeah, but that was when he was still getting high. I don't think anything was ever a proper relationship, but every once in a while I'd get a call because he'd got picked up for public indecency or something outside of a club. Mycroft got him out of most of those and I'd go and give him a ride home. Had absolutely no shame about it either. But I don't remember anything after he got clean. It's like he just turned it off." He motioned for another pint.

It was John's turn to gape. Public indecency? Sherlock? Nope. Don't want think about that right now.

Greg was watching him process. "I suppose there's a reason you're asking?" His drink arrived and he took a sip.

John sighed. "This is going to require another one, I think." He ordered it and another pint when the server came by.

"That bad?"

"Yeah." He waited until the drinks arrived, downing the whisky right away. He'd need to order some water soon.

"Well, out with it. Or should I guess?"

John snorted. "Fine. So, I went to see what Sherlock was up to, right? And after I saw him, I ducked out and kind of waited around for him to come out to make sure that he's ok. He came out, but he's not leaving. He's standing around smoking, like he's waiting for someone. And this guy comes out to talk to him and I don't think anything of it at first. But then-," John takes a gulp of his beer, "then they started snogging."

If Greg had been the type to gasp dramatically, that would have done it. As it was, he nearly choked on a mouthful of beer. "Really?"

John nodded. "Shocked me too. And here I was, thinking that he just didn't like people enough to bother." He took another drink. "It gets worse."

Greg was hanging on to every word at this point. "Worse?"

"Yep. And I swear to god Greg, if this gets around the Yard, I will murder you."

"Bit not good threatening a copper, mate," Greg grinned at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, so I guess I should say this first. I'm bi." He watched to see what kind of reaction Greg would have and was encouraged when there wasn't one. He just shrugged at him and gave him a _get on with it_ look. "Yeah, okay. When I first met Sherlock, I kind of hit on him, just testing the waters, you know? And he shut me down, gave me that whole 'married to his work' speech." He stopped when Greg started to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"He always says that! You've seen him, right? I mean, I'm straight and I'd think about it. He was always getting hit on, even down at the station until word got around. I mean, haven't you ever wondered why Sally doesn't like him?" Greg snickered some more. "I guess you were the first person that ever made it past the bluff and actually tried to get to know him." He paused, pondering. "Hell, he told me that and I wasn't even coming on to him."

"Seriously?" John thought for a moment. "That does explain Sally's attitude, somewhat. I still think she's out of line calling him a freak, though."

"That I agree with. So, you were saying? You hit on him, he shot you down, then what?"

John was starting to feel the whisky now. He ordered another one just for good measure before he answered. "So, anyway, I figured with that answer he just wasn't into that sort of thing and I let it go. I had a new flatmate that I got to run around and solve crimes with. That was good enough for me."

"But?"

"But, after we'd lived together for a while, I don't know, I just always felt something was there but I didn't want to say anything because the last thing I wanted was to make him feel uncomfortable. And then, well, then it was too late." John was grateful for the arrival of his drink and made quick work of it. He forgot to order a water and Greg got one for him.

Greg nodded sympathetically. "You were a mess then."

"That I was. And then I met Mary and she was nice and I really needed nice, just then. I decided, this is it. This is how my life is going to go. I'll marry this lovely woman and probably have a kid and that will be that. But it just wasn't the same."

"Honestly, the state that you were in after he 'died'," Greg made air quotes. "We all thought that you'd been together and had just kept it quiet. So, why did you go through with it after he came back? Not judging, but it would have been the time to put up or shut up before the legalities were done."

"Looking back, I was just so angry and hurt that I wasn't thinking clearly. And I sure as hell wasn't going to make some romcom declaration of love or some shit after all that mess. I had just got engaged and we were just starting to learn how to be around each other again." He sighed. Greg didn't know anything about the next part. "And then he got shot."

"You moved back to Baker Street to help out didn't you? I expect that Mary wasn't too happy about that." Greg looked at him over his glass. "Sherlock told me, you know."

Okay so maybe Greg knew more than he was letting on. "Told you what, exactly?"

"Who shot him."

John laid his head on the table. "You must think I'm the biggest idiot that ever lived."

Greg put a hand on his arm. "Not for that, no. I think you tried to do the best you could with the situation that you were in. I'm guessing that had a hand in the separation?"

John sat up and gave Greg's hand a pat before drawing back. "In a way. The last straw was that Mary thought that I was cheating on her with Sherlock so she did the same thing to me with her ex." He took a long drink of the water that had been put in front of him. He would love Greg in the morning. He loved Greg right now. "And the baby wasn't mine."

"That I didn't know. That's awful."

"It is." John agreed. "You want to know what else is awful?" Greg nodded. "I went over there this morning, figured I'd get all of-" vague hand waving with a glass of water, not the best idea "-this off my chest." He chuckled bitterly. "I go over there, ready to tell him and you know what I find? I'll tell you. It was that bloody bloke from last night coming out of his bedroom."

There. Now he'd told someone. He could wallow in his humiliation.

"Christ. What did you do?"

"What could I do? He thought I was Sherlock's boyfriend or something. So I set him straight." He smirked at his own bad pun. "And then I left. I couldn't stand to even be in the flat so I ran like a coward."

"So you didn't even see Sherlock?"

"Nope."

"That's some rough shit, mate."

"Yeah it is." John laughed harshly. "So there you have it. The mess that is John Watson's life. What do you think?"

Greg was thoughtful. He set his glass down and looked at John seriously. "Well, the first thing you're going to do is finish that glass of water and let me get you into a cab.You are going home to sleep this off." He stood, throwing money on the table. "The second thing you're going to do is go over to Baker Street in the morning and tell that bloody man how you feel about him."

"I don't know Greg-"

"No. I'm not listening to any more whinging about it. Anyone that has ever seen you two together can tell that you belong to each other and that's a fact. If you don't go and talk to him in the morning and then report back, I'm going to haul you both in and lock you in a room until you get it sorted." He motioned for John to follow him. "Understood?"

John rolled his eyes. "Understood. If anybody asks, I'm doing it because you said so. Not Mycroft. Can I go home now?" He had a definite sway to his walk from the whiskey that he had downed in such a short period of time.

"Yeah, mate. Let's get you in a cab."

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with him."

"That you are, John, that you are."

\--

After the enlightening conversation with Stamford, Sherlock couldn't seem to focus enough to 'give it a good think' as suggested. He needed to get his mind off of John so that he could come at it from a different angle.

He considered going to the club again, weighing the benefit of the physical activity versus the annoyance of having to speak to Tyler. Last night's dalliance would have to be dealt with sooner or later, so he might as well get it over with.

He waited until the last possible minute to get there so that he knew Tyler would be busy getting things started and wouldn't have time to seek him out. He was fourth on the lists and up against a new addition. He had just started unbuttoning his shirt when Tyler caught up to him.

"Wasn't sure if I'd see you here tonight, Holmes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't know why not. I haven't missed a night yet."

"You just seemed really eager to shove me out the door this morning, wasn't very nice."

"I'm not _nice_."

"You were nice enough last night. Want another go?"

Oh for god's sake. "That won't be necessary. Last night was, shall we say, a miscalculation on my part."

"Miscalculation? What the hell does that mean?"

Sherlock gave him an icy glare. "It means that while the physical activity was satisfactory enough, the company left much to be desired. In other words, I don't want another _go_ , I just want to fight my round. Is that a problem?"

Tyler stared at him. Sherlock waited for the anger and possible shouting. He would have to find another outlet for his frustration. Damn. But to his surprise, Tyler just shook his head and smiled to himself.

"You're a weird one, Holmes. It's a good thing you're pretty. You're up next. Best get ready." He gave him a wink and got back to business.

Sherlock removed his shirt and then knelt to take off his shoes and socks.

He was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, John's talk with Greg is my favorite part of this one :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

John awoke slowly. He opened his eyes tentatively to the light streaming in through the curtains that he had not been in any state to close last night. He was surprised when his head did not throb and he remembered Greg helping him up the stairs and making him take two paracetamol and drink a full glass of water.

Then he remembered what he had promised to do.

Sitting up, he scrubbed a hand over his face. He was going to have to talk to Sherlock. The mere thought of that conversation made his stomach clench. He flopped back down on the bed and threw an arm over his face. His phone buzzed.

**We need to talk. SH**

How did he fucking do that? It was goddamn eerie.

**Yes. Two hours?**

**Acceptable. SH**

John threw back the covers and sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. Why was he so nervous about this? It was Sherlock, for god's sake. And that was the problem in its entirety right there.

This was his life. And he had no idea what he was going to say or what the response was going to be. The question of Sherlock's interest in sex had been answered but would he ever want a relationship?

The thoughts were rolling around and around and were starting to make him queasy. He finally pushed himself to his feet and undressed to get in the shower. The spray of hot water helped, but his brain had gone into overdrive and he kept going over what he should say. Everything seemed trite and cliched. All that would accomplish is scorn and ridicule and an intense sense of stupidity at the whole endeavor.

He dragged himself out of the shower when the water started to cool and dried himself quickly, wrapping the towel around his hips. A quick swipe of the fogged up mirror showed him what he feared. A washed up army doctor on the wrong side of forty. He was scarred inside and out. And he evidently wasn't smart enough to avoid marrying an ex-assassin who then tried to kill the person that he should have been with all along.

He loved Sherlock. Was in love with him. It was going to destroy him when Sherlock rejected him.

He sighed and started getting dressed.

\--

Sherlock hadn't expected John to answer so quickly.

Shit.

An odd and unrecognized feeling came over him and he was startled to realize that his hands were shaking. He was afraid. He wanted to talk to John and yet he didn't want to talk to John. He felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest and he rubbed absently at the ache just under his breastbone.

He was not good at this. Sentiment. Expressions of emotion. How on earth was he going to be able to communicate in a reasonable fashion the intense hurt he had felt when John had stayed with Mary? He wasn't sure himself how to classify it. It was unmeasurable.

He clenched his shaking hands into fists and felt the sting of the abrasions on his knuckles. There was no swelling but the story of the difficult bout was written on his hands and face. And ribs by the twinge when he stretched.

He had picked up his phone and sent the text to John as soon as he had awoken from his restless sleep. He had gotten home late, leaving directly after he had collected his winnings and had wandered around the flat trying to plan his next move. And that was when he finally admitted to himself that he was completely and utterly out of his depth.

The person that he would normally confer with to make sense of matters of emotion was the very person at the heart of the conflict. John was his compass and had always kept him right. This was true before he leapt off a building, he just hadn't recognized it. And then it was too late.

That seemed to be his way. Always too late. Too late to figure out another way to keep John safe. Too late making his way out of a Serbian prison to avoid being tortured and scarred. Too late to keep John from meeting Mary. Too late to stop him from marrying her. And far, far too late to prevent the anguish of her lies. Regret and far too many things left unsaid weighed on him.

Perhaps this was a huge mistake. Could he realistically go back to the way things were before Moriarty and his puzzles? Have John without actually having him? Could he watch him meet another woman, or even a man apparently, and love them enough to leave him again?

They were always leaving. Both of them. He had left to keep John safe and John had left to try to move on. The difference is, he was always coming back. He had dreamed of coming back after it was all done and John would be angry and then he would forgive him. And he would think he was brilliant again.

That's not what had happened. He had come back, wounds not yet healed, and John had been unbelievably angry at the deceit. That night had been full of anger and pain. The wounds had broken open under John's hands and Sherlock had been thankful for his dark jacket and heavy coat. By the time he had made it back to Mycroft's, he could barely move. The personal physician who was always on call had redone the pulled stitches and applied fresh bandages but all he could think of was John. John was supposed to be the one healing him. John could never know that he had hurt him.

Sherlock shook his head and glanced at his mobile for the time. He was startled to see that he only had about a half hour before John would arrive and he would be damned if he would have this conversation in his pajamas.

He stood from where he had been seated on the side of the bed, and opening the wardrobe, pulled out a freshly pressed suit and shirt. Placing them on the bed, he began to undress.

He glanced in the mirror and saw that his eye had bruised spectacularly. Unfortunate. Also the cut on his eyebrow was in need of a new steri-strip. Wonderful. He raised his arm to take a look at the bruising on his ribs and winced. His pale skin showed every mark. He was a mess, inside and out.

And he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say.

\--

John arrived at Baker Street precisely two hours after the text. He had dressed carefully, not quite sure why it mattered. He stared at the heavy black door and couldn't bring himself to unlock it with the key that he still possessed. He had tried to give it back to Mrs. Hudson but she had refused to take it. He pulled it out of his pocket and stepped forward.

It was now or never.

\--

Sherlock heard John's footsteps on the stairs and his heart began to pound. He could hear the reluctance in his step and knew that John was just as nervous as he was. That fact didn't make him feel any better. He stood in the middle of the room, unsure as to if he should sit or stand or... This was infuriating. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and then immediately tried to smooth down the wayward curls.

He was still standing in the middle of the sitting room, patting at his hair, when John came through the door. Sherlock immediately put his hands down, alternately putting them behind his back and then letting them hang by his side in a show of false ease. He finally gripped them together in front of himself in an attempt to stop fidgeting.

John had turned to close the door behind him and missed most of the act. When he turned back to face Sherlock, his face went from apprehensive to concerned in a heartbeat.

"What the hell have you done to yourself?"

Sherlock blinked at him, uncomprehending. He had completely forgotten about the state of his face. John reached out a hand and then jerked back in an aborted show of concern, not sure if it would be welcome.

"It's nothing, John."

This was not going at all like Sherlock had imagined. He wanted John to touch him, care for him as he had done so many times in the past. They were so awkward with each other that it was painful.

"No it’s not. Can I at least check to make sure that you didn't fracture anything?"

Sherlock nodded. John stepped forward and gingerly prodded around his eye socket. He also checked the small bandaged cut and nodded approvingly.

"Looks like it's just bruised. Anything else?"

It had taken all of Sherlock's considerable willpower not to lean into John's hand as he probed his injuries. He could feel the warmth leaving him and the chill of the void between them grew.

"Bruised ribs. No need to check those, _doctor_."

John bristled at the cold tone.

“Pardon me for being concerned.” John squeezed his eyes shut, reigning in the flare of temper. He looked at Sherlock pointedly. “Look. You wanted to talk. Talk.”

Sherlock drew himself up to his full height and took a breath. Nothing came out. His lips pressed tightly together as if to keep the words from pouring out. He couldn’t do this. He rubbed at his chest again, not noticing that he was doing it. His heart felt like it was going to pound its way through his ribs. It hurt.

John watched this display and his fading anger was quickly turning to concern. Sherlock’s face was pale behind the vivid bruises and his eyes were darting around the room, looking anywhere but at John.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes darted up to John’s and he sucked in a breath. Sherlock was terrified.

The sight shook John to his core. He had been so focused on his own feelings and thoughts that he hadn’t considered how this whole mess might be affecting Sherlock. And why would he? The man had been acting like such a cold bastard he had just assumed that it wasn’t bothering him that much. Evidently, he was wrong about that too.

John held Sherlock's gaze and it felt like a physical grip. Sherlock could feel the tremors getting worse until he was clutching his hands tightly in front of him, willing his body to stop its betrayal. The pain from his abraded knuckles helped him to focus and he jerked away awkwardly, turning his back on John. He peeled his hands apart and rested them on the mantle, his head hanging down so that he couldn't see John in the mirror.

John, however, could see Sherlock perfectly. He could see from the clenched jaw that something was very, very wrong here. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't this. He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension but his pride wouldn't allow it. Sherlock had reached out and wanted to talk and, fuck it all, he was going to make him talk.

So he waited. He would have sat in his chair, but it had disappeared again. The only available seat was the sofa so, ignoring Sherlock, he took off his jacket and sat. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. And waited.

The silence was deafening.

Sherlock gradually realized that John was not going to lead the way in this, as he had so many times before. He was leaving it up to him. John's patience was seemingly endless and from the covert glances in the mirror, he was perfectly content to wait on the couch forever. Where to begin?

"I never wanted this."

John startled at Sherlock's voice. He wasn't sure whether to respond to that or not. Sherlock took the choice away from him as he usually did.

"I never meant to feel this way." He grimaced at the confession. "I've made so many mistakes and I’m afraid that this may be the biggest one yet."

"I think we've both made our fair share of mistakes." John's quiet voice barely carried across the room.

"Yes." Sherlock swallowed. "I didn't want to leave when I did. I never thought that you would be so affected and I sincerely regret the hurt that I caused you. I can't apologize enough for that."

"Didn’t think I would be so affected?" John's voice took on a sharpness that wasn't there before. "I thought you were dead for two years and that it was my fault, you bastard. I grieved for you. Do you have any idea--" John stayed on the sofa. He knew that if he got up, nothing good would happen. He would either walk out the door or do something else that he would regret. "You. Were. Dead."

Sherlock threw up his hands in frustration. He was never going to be able to make John understand that he had no choice. That if he could have accomplished his task without leaving for two fucking years he would have.

“I don’t do this.” Sherlock could feel tension bubbling up and he clamped down on it fiercely. “I am not good at these kinds of things.”

“Neither am I.” John was exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that was the result of too much to worry about and no amount of sleep would fix that. They were finally face to face and they were getting absolutely nowhere. Sherlock was shutting down again. Just like he always did.

“Sherlock--” he began and shook his head. “No. We need to talk about this. We’re too…” he searched for the right word “...broken. It’s festered for too long, and I don’t know about you, but I am damn tired of living without you.”

Sherlock nodded slowly.

“I can’t get past it. Faking your death. Running around solving the last of Moriarty’s puzzles. Was it fun? Did you enjoy yourself?” John choked out the words and remembered the scars on Sherlock’s back. He was being cruel and he knew it.

“Say something, dammit.”

Sherlock's shoulders had drawn in tighter and tighter with each word. John thought perhaps it was a show of remorse and was completely caught off guard for the explosion.

"I did it for you!"

Sherlock whirled around, hands coming up to grip his hair in frustration. "I died so that you could live. What part of that can you not understand? I gave up everything, John, everything. My life here, the work."

The words were pouring out and it was too late to stop them now. "I carried you with me for two years. Just so that I would have the will to finish and come home. All I wanted to do was come home to you." He heaved out a breath that was verging on a sob. "I took too long."

He was breathing in ragged gasps now, chest heaving, as John looked on in shock. "I tried. I tried to be your friend, to stand back so that you could be happy. If you were happy, I thought it would be enough." His wild, red-rimmed eyes met John's and John flinched at the pain he saw there.

John stood as if to stop him, to stop the anguished look on his face. Sherlock took a deep breath and seemed to be reasserting his iron will over his rebellious transport. His usual unemotional facade was starting to emerge and that would not do.

“Don’t.” John’s voice was low but commanding. “Don’t put up that wall. Not now.”

Sherlock didn’t look quite as out of control as he had a few moments ago, but his face still held traces of the hurt that had escaped without his permission. Now he just looked achingly sad.

“I was too late and then I saw that something wasn’t right about Mary, but you were just starting to forgive me and I--” He looked down. “I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. So, I thought if I helped with the wedding, I could get past this...this...” He gritted his teeth. “...sentimental rubbish and go back to being your friend. I’m sorry, John, I’m so sorry.”

He looked at John with the most devastatingly plaintive look on his face, silently begging him to understand what he was trying to say. John looked torn between his natural urge to comfort and bewilderment at what he had just been told.

John had never thought that Sherlock ever felt that way about anything. What Sherlock had just said played back in his head and he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. If he was understanding what this brilliant and emotionally repressed man was trying to tell him, then he was the biggest idiot on the planet and he did not deserve him.

He had been standing in the middle of the room, conflicted on what he should do, when the rush of emotion staggered him and he abruptly sat back down on the sofa.

“Sherlock,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Sherlock rewarded this question with a sigh as he slumped down into his chair. He rolled his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. “When would I have said anything, John? Should I have dramatically stopped the wedding in the middle of the ceremony? Or made a declaration from my hospital bed?” He turned to stare at John, gauging his reaction. “You made your choice and I resigned myself to it.”

“Since when have you ever resigned yourself to anything?” John demanded, suddenly angry. “God, Sherlock. If I had known, if I had any idea that you--”

“What would you have done about it?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“I would never have got married for starters!” John’s voice rose again, his fury at the whole fucked up situation boiling over despite himself. “For all I knew, you would never lower yourself to, what did you call it, such a ‘chemical defect’. For Christ’s sake, until I saw tall, blond and fit walking out of your sodding bedroom, I thought you were a virgin.” John ground his teeth at the memory. He hadn’t meant to bring that up because now he just sounded jealous. Fuck it. He was jealous. He was so fucking jealous that he couldn’t see straight.

John was moments away from fleeing the flat. Again. Instead he stayed firmly planted on the sofa, determined to see this mess through, once and for all. No matter what happened.

Sherlock spoke into the silence that had fallen between them. “I had noticed a certain amount of attraction, but I assumed that it was the thrill and danger to which you were responding to. You were always dating those overly dull women, how was I to know that you might…” he trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

John’s anger receded. They were both so, so stupid. “You didn’t think that I might feel the same way?”

Sherlock nodded. "I couldn't take the chance that it would completely ruin our friendship." He let out a bitter laugh. "Look at us now."

John didn’t know what to say. They were on the ragged edge of...something. One wrong step, even the right step, would change their lives more than anything else they had endured. They had both been through so much. Sherlock looked smaller than he ever had before. Where was the man with the flashing eyes that commanded the room? He was sitting right over there, looking defeated and worn.

He was right there. They were both in the same room, breathing the same air, and the distance between them was bordering on absurd.

“Come here.”

Sherlock looked up, surprised. He hesitated, then stood awkwardly. He stepped around the coffee table for once and seated himself on the other end of the sofa, as far away from John as he could get. He looked so unsure of himself that John felt another pang of guilt for being the cause of it.

They waited in silence. Waiting for the other to make the first move.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, kids! :)

Chapter 7

Two minutes. A lifetime. Sherlock waited patiently to see what John would say. Two minutes was all that he could bear. That was all it took for Sherlock to start fidgeting. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands and he finally settled on clutching them tightly in his lap to keep them still. He couldn’t take this silence. If John was going to leave, he just needed to know.

“What happens now?”

John had been wondering the same thing. He was just better at waiting than Sherlock was.

“What do you want to happen?”

Sherlock was taken aback. All of the scenarios that he had allowed himself to peruse had depended on John’s actions entirely. He knew what he wanted, but now that he was expected to verbalize it… He glanced over at John who was so frustratingly patient that it was maddening. There were no cues, no hints for him to go on. He opened his mouth, closed it. Cleared his throat.

“I find it difficult to put into words.” He was floundering. He knew that John expected him to say something, anything, but his brain was racing ahead, calculating the probability of outcome of certain words and phrases, body language--

He startled when he felt a warm hand cover his own where they were twisting around each other. He looked down at John’s hand as if he had never seen it before and was wondering where it came from.

“Just say anything that comes to mind. You can’t mess this up, I promise.”

Sherlock didn’t believe that for one second, but he also didn’t believe that it could get any worse. So he trusted John.

“Come home, John. Please.”

The hand on his tightened and he waited for the inevitable refusal and excuses. He wanted so much more than that, but John coming back home was his top priority. _Please, please come back home_.

“Alright.”

Sherlock’s eyes darted over to confirm what he had just heard. John was looking at him with an amount of fondness that he hadn't seen in a very long time. He was slowly running his thumb over Sherlock's bruised knuckles and he could feel how shaky he was.

Sherlock untangled his hands and leapt up from the sofa, unable to hold still for a moment longer. He strode quickly over to the window and made a quick turn back to face John, hands tangling in his own hair.

"John." Sherlock's voice was shaky now, too. "John, you have to be sure. You have to be certain, because I couldn't bear..." He gritted his teeth, eyes squeezing shut in the frustration of expressing his absolute need for John to stay.

"John, please, I-"

John finally rose from his seat, moving to stand in front of Sherlock, hands reaching out to ease the tormented man in front of him.

"It's alright. It's alright, Sherlock."

His hands gripped Sherlock's wrists, easing his arms down so that his hands no longer gripped dark hair in tortured fists. Sherlock looked at him, his face a study in pain and emotion. He was a shattered wreck.

"I'm sure. Whatever you want, I'm sure."

Sherlock closed his eyes again, his brow furrowed in an attempt to quell his racing thoughts. He shook himself out of his thoughts and raised a tentative hand to John's cheek. He read John's face, asking for permission and received a small nod. He leaned down to finally, _finally_ press his lips to John's.

The kiss was soft and sweet. John could feel Sherlock's stuttering breath against his cheek and he angled his head to press in more firmly. His hand rose of its own accord and found its way to the back of Sherlock's neck and then into the longer than usual curls. Sherlock had really been neglecting himself. His hair was longer and his face a little more gaunt. It made John suddenly full of regret at his anger and distance that had been allowed to grow between them.

Then the kiss changed. Sherlock made a small noise in the back of his throat and opened his mouth, allowing the entrance of John's tongue. He met it with his own and then John could feel the emotion coming off of him through the kiss. He could feel the pain and despair, the sheer loneliness. It was awful. It was so sad and, oh god, how had he not seen this. He broke the kiss with a gasp and wrapped both arms around him to hold him close.

Sherlock just seemed to melt against him, all of the tension leaving his body as he clung to him, burying his face in the crook of John's neck.

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea-" John couldn't even finish what he was trying to say. He just held on. He could feel Sherlock's breathing start to calm and eased his grip. Sherlock swiped at the sudden wetness that had appeared on his face, resembling a small child that had cried itself out to exhaustion. John could see the dark circles under his eyes through the bruises on his face. Just another example of neglect. His neglect.

Sherlock had regained control and was mortified. And relieved. And utterly exhausted. He raked a hand through his hair and tried to offer John a small smile. He must not have looked too convincing because John was still looking at him with no small amount of concern.

"John-"

"Stop. Just come here, you giant git."

John sat on the sofa again, patting the space beside him.

“You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Sherlock tried to give him an affronted glare but was just too drained to make it effective. He sat as directed, staring at his hands in his lap again.

He was saved by the the click of kitten heels that announced Mrs. Hudson's presence on the stairs. She peeked her head in the door to the sitting room and her eyes opened in surprise at the sight in front of her.

“Oh boys, it’s so nice to see you talking again! I was just checking to see if Sherlock wanted something to eat.”  She broke off, sensing the tension still in the room. “I’ll just pop down and put together a little something. Just this once, dears. I’ll let you get back to-" She waved at them both and retreated back downstairs.

“So.”

Sherlock sighed. He raised his head to look at John with an odd, almost apprehensive look on his face.

“What are you thinking? I can practically feel your brain working.”

Sherlock looked away then, deciding if he should give voice to his thoughts or not.

"I meant what I said earlier. If we are going to-" He swallowed heavily, lips twisting into an uncomfortable grimace. "If you and I were to-" He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Why was this so difficult? "You have to be certain, John. I can't, I couldn't bear it if you were to change your mind."

John was surprised and a little hurt. "Sherlock, I would never-"

"You would never mean to do it, I realize that, but you have options that I don't and if you were to tire of...this..." _Me. Get tired of dealing with me_.

"I have options? You have just as many if not more." John sat back, giving himself a little distance. "Look at the bloke I saw coming out of your bedroom," he muttered. He saw the stricken look on Sherlock's face and felt instantly guilty. "Sorry."

Sherlock nodded. "That was- that was a mistake. It was my attempt to reconcile my life without you and nothing else." He wrinkled his nose. "It was unsuccessful."

John huffed out a laugh. "But that is what I'm talking about, right there. You could go out anywhere and have your pick. Why would you settle for a broken ex-army doctor?"

Sherlock's head snapped up, eyes flashing. "Don't you ever refer to yourself like that again, do you understand? I won't stand for it. You are noble to a fault and you are the best person."

John was taken aback by the outburst, but appreciated Sherlock's words. "I missed you so much. I knew from the first week that I had made the wrong decision but I was so angry at everyone and everything, that I didn't know how to deal with it. I'm sorry for that.” He reached and wrapped a hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled, bumping their foreheads together. "And to answer your question, I've never been more sure."

Sherlock surged forward, claiming John's lips again. This kiss was full of joy, a direct contrast to their first. He pushed John down on the cushions, settling himself between John's thighs, never losing contact with his mouth.

"Is this alright?" Sherlock murmured, sliding a hand under John's jumper and vest, searching for warm skin.

"God yes it is. Bloody hell." John's hands were doing their best to get to skin as well and he tugged Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers. He ran a hand up Sherlock's back, trying not to think about the scars that he knew were there. His other hand found its way into dark curls, tugging gently after hearing the choked off moan at the first pull.

He could feel Sherlock's erection pressed against his hip and he ground up, desperate for friction. Sherlock's hands wandered up and down his body, cupping his face and ghosting across his ribs where his jumper was pushed up.

"Boys!"

\--

The two men sat side by side on the sofa in a much different position than they had previously occupied. Mrs. Hudson, hands full with an overloaded tea tray, had stood there with her eyes squeezed shut while they had extricated themselves from each other. With a fair amount of amused looks, they had finally made themselves presentable, though Sherlock’s shirt was still untucked and his hair was beyond repair.

Mrs. Hudson had made her way to the kitchen once it was safe to do so, muttering under her breath the entire time.

“Honestly! The door does have a lock for a reason.”

“Silly men with their silly pride, really!”

“Oh my, what is on this table? That’s disgusting!”

John offered to help but had been shooed away and was told to plant himself on that sofa with the other great oaf and she would deal with them both at the same time. It brought back memories of his mum walking in and catching him with his hand up his girlfriend’s shirt. He glanced at Sherlock and they both huffed a laugh as their eyes met.

Mrs. Hudson left the kitchen to stand in front of them, hands on hips and a stern look on her face. The smiles faded away and they both suddenly felt that they’d been caught out at something. “You two, I swear. I had a good think while I went downstairs and I have a few things to say to both of you.”

“Mrs. Hudson-”

“You will be quiet and listen to me for once, Sherlock Holmes. I’ve left you to your own devices and it’s quite clear that you have made quite the mess here.”

“But-”

“Don’t think that doesn’t apply to you as well, John. What on earth you were thinking going through with the wedding, when it was clear to anyone with eyes that you loved someone else. I can’t even wrap my mind around it.”

John’s lips pressed into a tight line and he looked at the floor. His earlier guilt came back full force and it made his stomach knot. He was pulled out of his misery by a gentle hand on his shoulder. Mrs. Hudson looked on with some understanding of his sorrow.

“I know, dear. It was confusing with himself popping back up like that, no one ever gets a chance like that to make things right, but you could have handled it differently. I think Mary knew from the beginning as well, she did push for a date that was sooner than expected. She didn’t want to give you time to change your mind.”

"And you." Sherlock jolted when her attention turned to him. His focus had been on John and the urge to do anything to wipe that sorrowful look off his face was overwhelming.

"You closed yourself off up here, pining away." She shook her head at his indignant expression, "Yes you were, don't try to deny it. Always in a strop, not eating or sleeping, playing that dreadfully sad music at all times of the night. I was on the edge of dragging John back here myself and not letting you leave until you sorted yourselves out."

She moved to stand between them, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. Her boys. She hoped that they were finally, finally going to work this mess out.

"Whatever happens, be kind to each other. You put each other through so much. I just..." her voice wavered. She cleared her throat and resumed her stern tone. "I am telling you to work this out. Do you understand?"

They both nodded.

"Now I would tell you to kiss and make up but I think that is already in the plan." She smiled at them both. "I am going out and I will be gone for several hours." She looked at them pointedly. "I'll make sure to call when I'm on the way back to see if you need anything."

Sherlock's face flushed and she patted his shoulder, turning to leave and letting them both off the hook.

\--

They didn't move from their spots on the sofa after Mrs. Hudson made her exit. John looked at Sherlock's profile where he was staring straight ahead, not focused on anything. He could see that Sherlock was retreating into his mind again and he needed to stop him before he was too deep.

"Sherlock."

No answer.

"Sherlock!"

"I heard you."

The quiet way that Sherlock responded was disconcerting on the heels of the rather glorious snog that they had enjoyed before being interrupted.

"Are you alright?"

Sherlock heaved a sigh and shrugged. "I don't know."

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know, John!” Sherlock lowered his head into his hands. “We both know that I am spectacularly bad at this. You must realize that any kind of relationship that we partake in would never be normal. I don't know that I can give you what you need."

John stared at him. After all they had said, the happiness that he knew had been there before they were interrupted, how could he not see it? That he had been a fool and had run away to hide his feelings because he was afraid. This wonderful, infuriating genius was all he ever wanted. Would ever want again.

"I don't want normal. Never have." Sherlock looked at him, eyes still doubtful. "I want you. I want us. I am in this, Sherlock. I don't know how else to convince you."

"Do you forgive me?"

The question took John by surprise. Of course he forgave him, of course he did. But there was that lingering thought: What if he does it again? What if he decides that he needs to protect the people that he loves and leaves or worse, dies for real?

"I-", he swallowed hard, "I forgive you. Of course I do. How could I not? But you have to, Sherlock, you have to swear to me that you will never, ever do anything like that again." He stood and then quickly knelt, gripping Sherlock's arms. "I won't survive it a second time, do you understand? I barely survived it this time. As much as I hate what Mary ended up being, she saved my life. If it wasn't for her..."

His words were cut off by Sherlock's mouth on his. He relaxed into the kiss, allowing Sherlock to take control. It ended naturally and he pulled back, hands on each side of Sherlock’s face.

“The real question is, do you forgive me?”

The confusion on Sherlock’s face would have been amusing under any other circumstance and John leaned forward to kiss the furrow in his brow.

“I don’t understand.”

“As I see it, we are both responsible for where we are right now. So if I’m forgiving you for being an arrogant prat and going off on your own without fucking talking to me- Twice, Sherlock, twice you’ve done that. Or tried to at least.” John paused taking a deep breath, pushing away the hurt that rose to the surface every time he allowed himself to think about it. “Then I’m asking you to forgive me for being an idiot that evidently needs to be led by the hand everywhere. I should have seen it. I knew, especially after you came back, that you actually cared, but I didn’t realize how much. I’m sorry for that.”

Sherlock’s face was pained. He leaned his forehead against John’s and sighed. “Are we finished with the self-blame portion of the day? I’m sorry, you’re sorry, all that bit?”

John couldn’t help it. He laughed. It was just such a Sherlock thing to say. Trust him to be the impatient one and want to move things along now that all of the emotional baggage had been dragged out into the open.

Then Sherlock’s stomach growled and John laughed even harder. Sherlock looked at him with a glare, but he had a smile fighting to form on his face as well.

“Let’s get you fed then. Your transport is demanding.”

Sherlock leaned forward and placed a kiss just behind John’s right ear. “Food is not the only thing that my _transport_ is demanding.” His voice rumbled and John’s eyes widened. He was still getting used to a sexual Sherlock, but active flirting and innuendoes? He was in so much trouble.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to earn that explicit tag...

Chapter 8

Mrs. Hudson, a saint as always, had provided them with scones which Sherlock attacked with enthusiasm. When John asked how long it had been since he had eaten, he just rolled his eyes, mouth full. A while, then.

John poured the tea and took his mug to the desk since his chair was gone again, leaving Sherlock’s on the kitchen table.

“Where did you put it anyway?”

“Put what?”

“My chair, you git.”

“Oh. That.”

Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eyes. What was he supposed to say? _I moved it upstairs because I couldn’t stand to see it empty and I couldn’t bear for anyone else to sit there. I missed you so much that I sat in your chair until your scent had faded_.

“Upstairs.” He paused. “Sentiment.”

John nodded. He understood. He took another sip of his tea, which gave him time to think. He watched Sherlock over the rim of his mug. He was leaning against the worktop in the kitchen,  similarly lost in thought, mug held forgotten in his hand.

Christ, the man was beautiful.

After all they had been through, after all they had done, they were finally both back where they had started. Where they belonged. They'd waited long enough to have this. God knows they had both paid dearly for it.

He nodded to himself, making the decision and strode the few steps to the kitchen and Sherlock. He plucked the mug from his hands and set both of them on the counter with a clink.

"John?"

John took that ridiculously lovely face in his hands, running his thumbs over the sharp cheekbones. "Don't you think it's been long enough?" Pale eyes searched his face and then they closed, Sherlock nodding his head.

"Yes." His answer was barely a whisper.

John followed that soft murmured word with his mouth, nipping at that full bottom lip before pulling back again. Sherlock chased the kiss, eyes still closed. He found John's lips again, arms pulling him closer. John angled his head, deepening the kiss and for a few moments they lost themselves in it.

Sherlock had pulled John in, settling himself against the counter so that they were closer in height. This ensured that their hips were in alignment when Sherlock ran his hands down John's back to the small of his back, tugging him even further into the vee of his thighs.

John smiled against his lips as he felt Sherlock's hands dip even lower, cradling the curve of his arse.

"Keen, are we?" John's laugh turned into a groan when Sherlock ground his erection against his hip.

"You have no idea."

He was definitely in trouble.

\--

Just as things were starting to get more urgent, all activities were brought to a grinding halt when John ran his hands up Sherlock’s side and over his ribs. The resulting flinch was too much for Sherlock to cover up. John insisted on taking a look to make sure that he hadn’t fractured anything. Sherlock just wished that he was unbuttoning his shirt for other reasons.

“You said it was nothing!”

“It is nothing, John. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss about…”

“Because I care about you, you git! If you need to do this to stay clean, then you have to take care of yourself.”

Damn.

John hadn’t meant to blurt out his knowledge of the fight club or Sherlock’s drug habits. Not like that. Damn it all.

Sherlock looked at him calculatingly, working out how he knew.

“Lestrade.”

John nodded. “He was worried about you.” He rolled his eyes at the disbelieving snort. “He was. He wanted to make sure that you hadn’t gone back to old habits and asked me to follow you. To see what you were up to. I’m actually surprised that you didn’t know I was there.”

Sherlock looked embarrassed. “I have to admit that I haven’t been at my best lately. What did you see?”

“I saw you a few nights ago. Just before I came over that morning and what’s his name was over here.” John felt another rush of jealousy come over him and he tried to stifle it before Sherlock could notice. He failed.

“John, I told you-”

“I know. I know. Sorry. Anyway, I saw you that night and I wasn’t sure why you were doing it at the time, but I was just glad to see it wasn’t drugs. I understand now.”

“You understand- Ah. Mycroft.”

“Yeah. He filled me in on some things.”

Sherlock stepped away from him, arms folding over his chest. Shutting himself off. “I suppose you feel like you need to save me now? Is that what this is all about? Poor Sherlock, pining away by himself. We better send John in and make sure he doesn’t off himself for real this time.”

“No! That wasn’t what happened. And it’s not like I could ask you, was it?” John wrapped both hands around the nape of Sherlock’s neck, thumbs stroking his face. “I needed data. That was all. No one needs to save you, Sherlock. Take care of you, yes. You saved my life. Please let me take care of you now. Please.”

Sherlock unfolded his arms, leaning forward to rest his forehead against John’s. “You saw the scars.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“I’m so tired, John.”

“I know.”

John nudged his nose against Sherlock’s cheek, urging him to raise his head so that he could kiss him again. "I want to take you to bed." Another kiss. "And then put you to bed." And another.

Sherlock startled him with a huff of laughter against his lips. He drew back to look up at him.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Sherlock was actively giggling now, shoulders shaking. He pulled John in to him before he could step away, embarrassed now, kissing his temple and resting his cheek against the top of his head.

“Oh god. That was unbelievably cheesy, wasn’t it.” John’s voice was muffled against Sherlock’s neck.

“No that’s not it. It was...good.” Sherlock was trying to get control of himself again. He was so wrung out that his emotions kept trying to escape by way of very inappropriate laughter. “I just realized that this is what it’s like to be chatted up by Three-Continents Watson. I am a lucky, lucky man.”

John snorted and snuck his hands into Sherlock’s open shirt again. It was difficult not to react when Sherlock felt the gentle fingers run up his spine. It was different knowing that John knew. He let out a shuddering breath.

“I will tell you about them. Just not- Not now,” Sherlock said, suddenly serious. He expected John to demand that he tell him about them right away. He wasn’t sure of the reaction to a permanent reminder on his body of his deception.

“Alright. You’ll tell me when you’re ready, yeah?” John pulled back, looking up at him again. Sherlock nodded and then smiled.

"About that first part again..." He covered John's mouth with his own, taking charge of the kiss this time. "I think that's enough talking for now, don't you?"

John responded by tightening his fingers in Sherlock's hair, tugging and getting a moan for his trouble. Sherlock pushed against him, walking him back away from the counter and towards the door that led to the hallway.

"Bedroom?"

John nodded and Sherlock broke away from him, shrugging out of his open shirt and tossing it to the floor without missing a stride toward his bedroom. John halted, stunned at the sight of pale bare skin and he would have been frozen in place longer if it wasn't for Sherlock calling his name from the doorway.

Sherlock had returned there when he realized that John had not followed him and he waited, hands braced on either side of the door frame.

"John?"

John shook himself. He couldn't believe that this was finally happening. That Sherlock wanted this. Wanted him. The enormity of the situation hit him all at once.

"I love you."

Sherlock made a strange half-smile, half-grimace expression, like his face didn't know how to react. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and when he looked back at John it was with a small crooked smile. He held out his hand.

"And I you. Very much. Please join me?"

John's feet finally found their purpose again and propelled him forward to take Sherlock's hand. He allowed himself to be pulled into Sherlock's bedroom and heard the click of the door as it closed behind him.

The bed was unmade, as was per usual, but John had a rogue jealous thought of wondering whether the sheets had been changed since the other night. Sherlock noticed, because of course he noticed everything.

"Mrs. Hudson changed them yesterday."

"Of course she did." John had to smile at this, jealousy fading away. They faced each other, hands still clasped, and he felt...nervous.

"Um. It's been awhile since I-"

Sherlock took his hand back and started unbuttoning John's shirt, fingers brushing against skin as it was exposed.

"I know."

He leaned in, placing a small kiss on John's jawline and continued his way down his neck, all the while undoing the small buttons. He pushed the material off of John's shoulders when he was done, dropping it in a heap. He placed a small kiss on the scar on John's left shoulder and walked around the silent man to do the same to the exit wound scar on his back. He wrapped his arms around John, pulling him tightly to his chest and John let his head fall back onto Sherlock's shoulder.

He knew that Sherlock was trying to make sure that he was comfortable and he appreciated that more than he would have thought. It had been years since he had been with a man. But this wasn't just any man. This was _Sherlock_. This was the rest of their lives if he had any say in it. It was important.

"Stop worrying." Sherlock's voice rumbled in his ear, causing a shiver to run through his body. Sherlock's hands stroked down his chest and paused when they reached his stomach, the warm weight of them pressing lightly against his abdomen.

Sherlock was asking permission.

When John did not pull away or make any other moves, except to lean closer to him, Sherlock moved his hands to John's belt buckle and made quick work of it. He paused again, making sure, and then unfastened John's trousers, the zipper loud in the still room.

John began to stir then and Sherlock was afraid that he had moved too quickly, but John was simply toeing off his shoes and ridding himself of his socks. He straightened up, trousers barely hanging on to his hips and took his place again.

Sherlock smiled into the skin of John's neck, before sucking a wet kiss into it. This produced a shudder and he did it again. John tilted his head to the side, allowing easier access and Sherlock took immediate advantage of it. He sucked another open mouth kiss, farther down and closer to the junction of neck and shoulder. John's hand came up to rest on the back of his head, encouraging him to continue. This time the kiss held an edge of teeth and he could feel the moan through John's back where it was pressed against him.

"You like this."

"Harder," was the reply.

Suction was paired with sharp teeth and John melted against him, breathing hard. Sherlock pulled back and looked at his handiwork. It would leave a spectacular bruise that would be easily covered. He liked the idea of leaving his mark on John. He liked it more than he probably should.

Sherlock's hands slid down John's sides, hooking the waistband of his loosened trousers with his thumbs. Gravity took over and they fell to the floor with a jingle of belt buckle. He ran a fingertip under the elastic of John's boxer briefs but John took the opportunity to turn around, reaching his mouth up to capture Sherlock's lips in another kiss, more urgent this time. He fumbled with the inside clasp of Sherlock's trousers, mumbling, "These damn poncy things, Jesus Christ."

Sherlock batted his hands away and took care of the clasp himself, yanking the offending clothing down while valiantly trying to keep contact with John's mouth. He mostly succeeded until he remembered to remove his socks and almost fell over in his haste. John caught him by an arm just in time.

"I think we need to move this to the bed."

"Agreed," Sherlock growled, taking John by the shoulders and backing him up until his legs hit the edge of the bed. They both landed there in a tangle of limbs, Sherlock doing his best to manhandle John up so that his head rested on the pillow.

"Hold on! Just hold on a second." John scooted himself back until he was in position. "Happy?"

"Immensely." Sherlock lowered himself until his body covered John's, hips aligned in a most delicious way. John reached up and pulled him down until they were pressed chest to thigh, ravaging his mouth with nips of teeth. They both gasped when their erections lined up through the thin layers of cloth. John's hands slid down Sherlock's back and grabbed his arse with both hands, grinding against him.

"Keep doing that and this will be over in seconds." Sherlock looked down at John and he couldn't remember seeing a more lovely sight. His hair was rumpled and his pupils were blown wide darkening his eyes. Sherlock placed a kiss on the tip of his nose and John blinked at him, arousal slowing his mind.

Sherlock took advantage of the pause to decide what he wanted to do next. With one more kiss, he sat back on his heels so that he could get to John's pants.

"May I?" He glanced down observing the line of John's cock and the wet spot that was already forming at the tip. He hooked a finger under the waistband, stroking the soft skin of John's belly. John lifted his hips and Sherlock pulled them down, moving to the side so that he could drag them all the way off. He took back his position between John's thighs and looked down taking his fill of John nude for the first time. It was a glorious sight.

He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "My wonderful, wonderful John."

John's hands ran up and down Sherlock's back restlessly, as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat at this sudden display of affection. Sentiment. He kissed Sherlock's face where he could reach it and then tangled his hands in dark curls again to guide their mouths together. One hand crept down and brushed the waistband of Sherlock's pants.

"Take these off." He murmured.

"In a moment." Sherlock began to make his way down John's body again, looking up at him with every kiss. John tried to keep eye contact but it was just too much. He threw an arm over his face, breathing heavily.

"Condom?" John had to ask, still not looking at him.

"No."

That got a look. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. You have not been with anyone since Mary and you had yourself thoroughly tested after you discovered her infidelity. Therefore, unless you object, I have no issues with you coming in my mouth." Sherlock had paused, looking up at him. "Problem?"

"Oh my god. Nope. No problem at all. Carry on."

Sherlock gave him a wicked grin and did just that. He flattened himself out on the bed, mouth hovering just above John's cock. John couldn't breathe, couldn't think, with the sensation of Sherlock's breath just there.

He let out a gasp as he felt Sherlock's tongue lick a line up the shaft before the head was engulfed in his mouth. Sherlock worked his way up and down with light suction at first, taking time to work his tongue at the head before taking the whole of it back into his mouth. He reached up and grasped John's hand from where it was clenching the sheets, bringing it to the back of his head.

John tentatively pushed his fingers into Sherlock's hair and remembering his earlier response, tightened his fist when Sherlock did something particularly clever with his tongue. This drew a moan from Sherlock that vibrated through his cock and balls, bringing about the feedback loop of his own groan.

"God, Sherlock-"

He was definitely getting close. He had been wound up since their snogging session on the sofa and just the mere idea of sex with Sherlock had been overwhelming, but the reality was so much more.

It was like Sherlock knew and he increased the pace and pressure on John's prick, brushing a hand over his balls to press a knuckle just behind them. That was all it took.

John gave a strangled shout when he came that might have contained Sherlock's name and he tightened his fingers in the hair at the back of Sherlock's head. Sherlock swallowed quickly, holding his head still to allow John to ride out his orgasm in his mouth. He pulled off when he was finished, making a slight grimace at the taste.

John fell back, spent. "Alright?"

Sherlock didn't answer right away. He crawled back up the bed until he could reach John's mouth, kissing him feverishly. John could taste himself and if he hadn't just come spectacularly in that addictive mouth, he might get hard again. He plucked at the waistband of Sherlock's pants again insistently.

"Off. You now."

Sherlock awkwardly shimmied them off, tossing them over the side of the bed. He pushed himself up to his knees, straddling John's stomach. John reached for his cock, eager to get his hands on him now. All his nervousness had fled with the glorious sight of Sherlock Holmes fully naked and aroused in front of him.

Sherlock hissed as John's hand closed around his cock, eyes closing. "Lube. Bedside table."

John reached over and yanked open the drawer, almost pulling it completely out in his haste. He rummaged around in it until he found the small bottle, holding it up in triumph. "Found it!"

"Yes, very good work, John. Now please, if you don't mind-" Sherlock broke off what he was about to say with a bitten off moan as John's, now slick, hand found its way back to his prick. He hung his head, breathing hard, as he tried not to come right away from the sheer feeling of John's hand on him. He had waited for this for such a long time and he didn't want it to be over just yet.

John began to stroke him, fingers running up his shaft and ending with a slight twist of his wrist at the head. He alternated his grip, paying attention to Sherlock's responses to his touch. "Like this?"

"A little firmer. Yes! Just like that! Oh, god." Sherlock threw his head back, thighs trembling where they rested on either side of John's body.

John ran his other hand up a long thigh and rested it on Sherlock's hip. He couldn't believe that he was able to do this, was able to see Sherlock like this. He gave his hip a tug, encouraging him to thrust into the circle of his hand, keeping the same firm pressure that Sherlock seemed to like.

"Come on, love. That's it."

Sherlock's eyes flew open at that and he fell forward, bracing a hand against the mattress. He leaned down to kiss John again feverishly, hips moving faster as he rutted into John's hand. It only took a few more moments and he was coming on John's stomach, groaning into his mouth. John took his hand away, not knowing if Sherlock got over-sensitive quickly and not wanting to take the chance. Sherlock collapsed on top of him, come smearing across his stomach as well.

John wiped his hand on the corner of the sheet and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, not caring for a moment that he was slowly being crushed. It was too perfect. Sherlock slid to the side before breathing became an issue and rested his head on John's shoulder, utterly spent.

He got up and John couldn't help but worry for a split second that he was going to stalk out of the room and never come back. He lay there, waiting, and breathed a sigh of relief when Sherlock returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth.

He was already wiping the ejaculate from his stomach, completely at ease with his nudity. He carefully cleaned John's stomach as well before flopping back onto the bed.

"You thought I was leaving. Idiot." The affectionate tone moderated the sharp words and John smiled at him. Sherlock lay on his back, one arm bent behind his head, and looked at John with a matching grin.

He rolled to his side, and throwing an arm over John's chest, proceeded to sink into him contentedly.

"I never would have taken you for a cuddler." John almost wished he hadn't said that. He didn't want Sherlock to get self-concious and stop.

"I'm not. Not usually." Sherlock sounded curious about that rather than self-conscious and the tone made John laugh. "I've never, well, shared a bed with anyone for anything other than sex."

"What about-"

"I slept in your old room."

"Ah." John curled his arm around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him in closer. Sherlock relaxed into him even more if it was possible, sighing. John managed to snag the edge of the duvet where it had almost been pushed off the bed and pulled it up over them both.

"I am knackered and I know you are, so let's just..." He didn't even get to finish the thought. He could hear the soft inhales that bordered on a snore and knew that Sherlock was already asleep. He just pulled him in closer and closed his eyes with a smile.

Well, that answered a question from years ago. His _was_ a snorer.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**It’s been 24 hours. Do I need to organize a drugs bust? GL**

**John is unable to answer his phone at the moment. Piss off until next week. SH**

**I knew it! :) GL**

**Emoticons, Gavin? SH**

**It’s Greg and you know it, you knob. ;) GL**

**You are insufferable. SH**

**Take care of each other. GL**

**We will. SH**

The phone hit the table with a clatter. John looked up from where he knelt between Sherlock's thighs with a scowl.

"You were texting? While I was- Really?" He started to get up.

Sherlock quickly put a hand on his shoulder. He was sprawled in his chair in the sitting room where they had ended up after finally making it out of the bedroom. They had succumbed to the need for food that morning after spending the previous evening in bed. And in the shower at midnight.

They had wrung pleasure out of each other's bodies using only hands and mouths so far. It was glorious. As was the attention that John had been paying to his cock had been until Lestrade's ill-timed text.

"Sorry. Sorry. I knew if I didn't answer, he'd just show up. And I don't think either of us want-  Oh god, that's good." He broke off as John, mollified by his apology, resumed his ministrations.

\--

John finally convinced Sherlock that he did indeed need to go and retrieve more clothes from his old flat. It was most certainly now thought of as his 'old' flat because he was assured that Sherlock would not allow him to spend another night there.

He had proven to be a surprisingly attentive and thoughtful lover. He was a bit bossy, to be sure, but John would have worried if that hadn't bled through somehow. In the in-between, they lay in his bed and Sherlock inevitably wrapped himself around John's body, as if he were afraid that he would disappear at any moment. It was incredibly endearing, if not a bit sad.

John pondered this as he sat in the cab on the way to his flat. He intended to pack some needed essentials and then head back to Baker Street. He'd deal with the rest of it later. It wasn't like he owned much. Most of what had been in the flat that he shared with Mary had been hers and anything that they had purchased together, he hadn't wanted.

Neither place had ever seemed like home, and he felt a lightness of heart that he had never expected again at the thought of returning to Baker Street and Sherlock. He packed quickly, and on his return to the pavement just outside, was unsurprised that a black car was waiting for him.

**Have been kidnapped. Will be back soon.**

**Tell Mycroft to piss off. Get back here. SH**

John smiled. Sherlock would never, ever admit it but he was the most touch-starved person that John had ever met. He soaked up affection. After their last go in the chair, they had finally put pants and dressing gowns back on and lounged on the sofa. Sherlock had put his head in John's lap and practically purred as he ran fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. John hid his sorrowful expression, not wanting Sherlock to see it, as he thought about how lonely this brilliant, gorgeous man had been. And how lonely they both would still be if friends and family hadn't convinced them to get their collective heads out of their arses.

He realized he'd been standing there smiling at his mobile, while the driver patiently held the car door open for him. He slid in, nodding to Mycroft as he did. Mycroft looked him over, taking in the bag that he placed on the seat next to him.

"I see congratulations are in order. You took my advice."

"I'm choosing to say that I took Greg's advice, but yes. Thank you."

"Now that you are back in your newly expanded role of caring for my brother, I need not remind you that his well-being is of the utmost importance to me."

"Is this the Holmes version of 'hurt him and I'll make you disappear'?"

Mycroft smiled. "You might say that. I would suggest that you make a call to Mummy before she finds out through other channels. She is far more protective."

John blanched. He hadn't even thought about telling anyone just yet beyond Greg. And Greg already knew apparently. "Your mum and dad, they are alright with this, right?"

"Of course. They have always been aware of Sherlock's preferences, and I am sure they will be most welcoming to you as his partner." He paused. "They do like you, John, and will be grateful that you two have sorted yourselves out. They were very concerned for Sherlock at Christmas when you arrived with Mary."

John pressed his lips together as he always did when reminded of that time. "I'd be surprised if they’d ever have me back at their house after that."

Mycroft shook his head. "I told you, they do approve of you in Sherlock's life. Mummy was certain that you would come around eventually."

John laughed. "You talked to your mum about our relationship problems?"

Mycroft grimaced. "She spoke most fervently on the subject. It was difficult to avoid."

John just grinned at his discomfort.

"Oh look, we have arrived. How fortunate."

John peered out the window to see the door for 221B as they pulled to a stop. "Thanks for the ride."

"You are most welcome. Please do not worry about the lease on your flat. It will be taken care of. The rest of your belongings should arrive here tomorrow."

"I should be annoyed at the presumption, but I just can't be arsed. Ta."

John got out of the car before the driver could open the door for him. He glanced up at the window and could see Sherlock peeking through the curtains. He smiled. Sherlock had been waiting for him and the thought filled him with warmth. He loved him. They loved each other.

There were still some unresolved issues, primarily Sherlock's scars, but everything had started to feel right for the first time in forever. They were finding their way back around being together. The sex was fantastic, but the ability to just exist around each other again was the more fulfilling part. The easy silence that they could share again was peaceful and a balm to John's mind.

He made his way up the stairs and took his bag directly to Sherlock's bedroom. Well, their bedroom now, he supposed. Sherlock was ensconced on the sofa where he most definitely had _not_ been waiting for John to get back and he was _not_ worried in the least about what Mycroft had to say.

"Mycroft says we need to tell your mum about us soon or else."

"Did he? What else did his pompous arse have to say?"

"He's happy for us." John grinned at the face that Sherlock made. He toed off his shoes and without any other preamble, plopped himself on top of Sherlock and wriggled around until they were both comfortable.

"What are you doing?"

"Something I've always wanted to do."

"Is that so?"

"It is." John pushed up on an elbow so that he could look at him, running the fingers of his other hand through Sherlock's hair. He smiled as Sherlock closed his eyes and pushed into the touch.

"Why?"

"Because I'd be sitting in my chair, I don't know, reading the paper or something and I'd look over at you sprawled out all over the sofa, all sulky and gorgeous and-" This statement received a snort of derision. "Stop it, you. This is my fantasy. Anyway, I'd look at you and I'd just..." he trailed off. "I just wanted to do this. Just touch you. Try and bring you out of whatever was swirling around in that head of yours." He laid his head back down on Sherlock's chest and traced patterns there with his fingertips. "I never thought in a million years that I'd actually be able to."

Sherlock grew still underneath him. John looked at his face in concern, noting the furrowed brow. "What?"

"We wasted so much time. Years. I don't regret what I did, but I do regret hurting you. I wouldn't change it, it saved your life and that is all that mattered." He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, as if undecided about his next words. His eyes were still closed, not wanting to look at John, not just yet. It would be hard enough without the pity that he knew would be there.

"It was Serbia." John kept his mouth shut. He knew that it was going to be difficult for Sherlock to talk about this and he didn't want to say the wrong thing that would make him shut down.

"I made a--a mistake. Quite a large one, in fact. I was captured and even though they didn't know who I really was, due to the quality of my forged identity, I definitely was not supposed to be there. I was there for two months." He heard John draw in a breath. He almost stopped there, not sure if he should continue. He hadn't talked about his time there with anyone and he feared that dredging it up now would make for a very unpleasant night. The nightmares had faded, but they still made an appearance every now and then.

John flattened his palm against Sherlock's chest, just over his heart, as if encouraging him to continue. He tightened his arm around John and nodded to himself. This was the right thing to do.

"I was, I was- this is ridiculous, I just have to say it." He gritted his teeth. "I was tortured." He drew in a shaky breath. "Beaten. Sleep deprived. Humiliated. I honestly don't know if I would have been able to escape on my own. I had to depend on Mycroft to get me out." He gave a strained laugh. "I'll never hear the end of that, the smug bastard."

"The only thing that kept me sane during that time was the knowledge that it was almost done. Serbia was the last part. I just- I just wanted to come home." He sounded so young. John raised up again, placing a hand on Sherlock's chin to face him. Sherlock blinked his eyes open, flicking his gaze over John's face, searching for the pity that should be there. There was none. Only the openness and affection that was always there.

"Thank you."

John pressed a kiss just at the corner of Sherlock's eye, then his cheek, the tip of his nose and finally a quick and chaste kiss to his lips. "Thank you," he said again, looking into Sherlock's eyes. "I know I was too angry to say that before, but I want to say it now." He rested his forehead against Sherlock's temple, nose brushing his cheek. He rose up again, a more stern look on his face. "I also want to say that as much as I love you, if you ever, ever try that again without me, I will hunt you down myself."

Sherlock blinked in surprise for a moment and then a large grin appeared on his face, making his eyes crinkle adorably. "I do not doubt that for one second." It was his turn to press a kiss against those solemn lips. "I would not dream of it. Together or not at all." He surprised himself with the sentiment, but it was worth it for the pleased look on John's face. "I love you, too."

God, he was downright soppy and he couldn't bring himself to care in the least.

\--

Mrs. Hudson had foregone visiting the flat for more than a day, leaving them to get reaquainted. When she made her way up the steps, she knocked and then waited patiently for John to open the door for her.

"Hello, John dear. Are you two decent?"

John flushed and waved her in. They were in fact both fully dressed, if Sherlock's pajamas and dressing gown counted as dressed. John considered it a win that he had convinced him to put something on besides his pants.

John had untangled himself long enough to do some shopping.  Sherlock's cupboards and fridge were bare and John was surprised to find that they were also free of experiments, gory and not. That was more of an indicator of Sherlock's state of mind than anything else.

He had just finished putting everything away, without Sherlock's help of course, when Mrs. Hudson had arrived so he was at least able to offer her tea. They sat at the kitchen table with only a glance at Sherlock, who was still lying on the sofa deep in thought.

"I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am that the two of you are back together."

John opened his mouth to automatically protest that they had never actually 'been together' before but that was a lie. They had always been together, they had just been too stubborn to do anything about it.

"Me too, Mrs. Hudson." He looked at Sherlock again, who was still not paying the slightest bit of attention to them. He lowered his voice. "I did want to ask you something, though."

She leaned toward him, speaking just as softly. "He was utterly miserable, John. It was just awful. I just don't know how much longer he would have lasted without you." She hesitated. "When he first came back, he would actually sleep at night and I would hear the most awful noises. I mentioned it to him and he told me that I was not to come up and try to wake him, no matter what. I haven't heard them as much lately, but he still has bad nights. I think you will help with those." She patted his arm.

Mrs. Hudson, in her infallible way, had hit the nail on the head. After Sherlock had told him about the nature of his scars, he had wondered about nightmares. He had dealt with those himself and he knew he would be able to handle helping Sherlock if he was needed. Now that he had confirmed his suspicions, he knew that tonight might be rough. It was good to be prepared.

"I hope so. I'm here now and I'm not leaving."

"I know dear, I know. I'd best be off now. Thanks for the cuppa." She walked over and pecked Sherlock's cheek which garnered no response and then John's when he opened the door for her.

"You do realize that I could hear you."

John smiled to himself at the petulant tone. He had gone back to the kitchen to make Sherlock's tea and he could just imagine the pout forming.

"I am quite aware that you have ears, when you choose to use them."

John brought the cup into the sitting room and after placing it on the table, picked up Sherlock's feet so that he could sit down. He placed a hand on an ankle and began to rub absentminded circles with his thumb. Sherlock cracked an eye at him in a half-hearted glare. Taking in John's face, he opened both eyes and studied him.

"You think I will have nightmares tonight."

John nodded. Sherlock closed his eyes again, mouth forming a hard line.

"Possibly."

John nodded again. His fingers continued to stroke Sherlock's ankle.

"Well we will just have to take the proper precautions then."

"And what are the 'proper precautions'?" John could hear the sneer.

"If you are properly tired you have a better chance of a good night's sleep."

"Is that so, doctor? I suppose you have an idea of how to accomplish the proper amount of tiredness?"

"Possibly." John couldn't hide the grin and when Sherlock met his eyes, he could see the gratitude in them.

"Well, you are a doctor. I suppose you know best."

\--

That evening, John put his plan in motion. He started prodding Sherlock to put on some real clothes and even changed into something more presentable himself. He had got dressed while Sherlock was showering, after refusing the tempting offer to join him, so when Sherlock strode into the sitting room he was pleasantly surprised. He shrugged his jacket on and raised an eyebrow in inquiry at John.

"I am taking you on a proper date."

"Is that so? What constitutes a proper date with John Watson?"

John checked to see if Sherlock was making fun of him, but he seemed honestly intrigued. "What do you think about dinner and then a walk in the park?"

"And then back home for other...activities?"

God, his voice. If he kept that up, they wouldn't make it out of the flat. "If you like." John grinned at him.

"Sounds perfect."

They clattered down the steps, pulling on coats and scarves. They left 221B the same way that they had hundreds of time before, John pulling the door firmly shut by the knocker, leaving it askew. Sherlock paused.

"Where are we going?"

"Can't you deduce it?" John smirked.

Sherlock studied him and then smiled. "Angelo's then?"

"Of course." They both turned in the direction of the restaurant and John reached for Sherlock's hand, tucking it firmly in the crook of his arm. Sherlock looked surprised for a moment and then smiled, looking straight ahead.

"Sentiment, John."

"Yeah, sentiment, you daft bugger."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not done with the smut just yet! :)

Chapter 10

Angelo greeted them as warmly as he always had. John had brought Mary here a time or two and, while Sherlock was still dead, they had been welcomed as friends. After he came back from the dead, John made the mistake of coming here with Mary and it had been as though he was a stranger.  Mary had even picked up on it, which made total sense now because that was vital in her job as a fucking _assassin_. She had commented to John that Angelo acted as though he was cheating on Sherlock.

He had laughed it off at the time, but now he could see how Mary got the idea that he and Sherlock had been an item before. It certainly did not excuse what she had done, but he could understand why she thought what she thought.

And now they were here on a date. It was just like any of the other hundred times that they had eaten at Angelo's except now he could sit close enough to Sherlock that their knees brushed when they moved. And he could hold his hand on the tabletop, as he was doing now.

It felt...normal.

Angelo hadn't mentioned anything past his regular greeting, but the next time he came by their table, he placed a candle on it with a wink. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he didn't make a move to remove his hand from John's.

"How are we doing so far?" John's eyes sparkled as he grinned at Sherlock, who was trying valiantly to keep a straight face.

"Good, I think. Not that I have much experience in this area, but this feels just like any other meal that we have shared in public. With a few..." he glanced at their entwined fingers, "...modifications."

"You don't mind? Being out in public like this, I mean. I should have asked first, but I didn't think-"

Sherlock stopped him with a mock glare. "You of all people know that I don't care what other people think. Of course this is perfectly acceptable. It's...nice."

John sighed in relief. He hadn't even thought about it. It had just seemed natural to show his affection in this way. He had always been a bit of a tactile person when it came to his previous partners and he had unconsciously fell into that habit with Sherlock. He could see them now. Sitting close together in the back of a cab on the way to a crime scene. The post-case adrenaline rush that could be channeled in a far different way than it ever had before... He stopped there. He could feel the flush on his cheeks and he knew that Sherlock would notice it. He cleared his throat and took a sip of his wine. He looked up to see Sherlock smirking at him.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

John tried to keep a serious expression on his face but failed miserably and they shared a smile instead. He tried to change the subject.

"I have to ask, why the fight club thing?"

Sherlock blinked at him, surprised by the abrupt change in topic. He knew that John would eventually get around to asking him about it, but he didn't think he would do it this soon. And right on the heels of something that made John blush. Interesting.

"During my time away," he glanced at John to make sure this was an acceptable topic. "I found that the chemical and hormonal reaction released by the physical activity was a suitable replacement for other, more artificial, stimulants."

John nodded, he knew this part from his conversation with Mycroft. "I know that you did it to keep yourself clean, but I can't even imagine where the idea came from."

"I belonged to a boxing club at university until I was asked to resign." John huffed a laugh at this pronouncement. "And I have always been a student of different methods of martial arts, particularly Baritsu. So when I came across a fighting ring in my investigations into Moriarty's web, it seemed like something that might help. It was a rough time."

He didn't want to tell John that he had slipped up and used while he was away. Not after last year's troubles. But looking at John's face, he realized that he didn't have to. John had probably guessed it already and was not judging him for it. He nodded in appreciation and tightened his fingers on John's.

"Anyway, I found that I was proficient at it. It was a means to earn money so that I didn't have to rely on Mycroft quite as much. That made it worthwhile by itself."

"So why go back to it in London?" John thought he knew the answer, but he felt compelled to ask.

Sherlock looked at the table. "I knew that if I stood any chance of earning your friendship back, I could not go back to drugs." He looked at John now. "I didn't know what else to do."

“Well, you threw Greg for a loop, that’s for sure. He was convinced that you were doing…” John trailed off, “...something else.” He finished lamely.

“I can understand that conclusion.” Sherlock nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “I’m impressed that you were able to follow me without detection.”

"It wasn't easy. I was sure you'd catch on when I got out of the cab. I barely saw where you went after that." Their food had arrived and they started eating, Sherlock actually hungry for once.

"How long did you stay and watch?" Sherlock pointed at John with his fork. "I surely would have seen you, unless..." He pondered this, chewing thoughtfully. "You saw me fight."

John flushed again, his reaction to the memory of the sight of Sherlock like that was unchanged. It was a different side of him. It was primal. It was...so disturbingly fucking sexy that he just didn't know what to think about it.

Sherlock studied him through his battle of conscience. He popped another bite of pasta in his mouth, eyes unwavering.

"You liked it."

"No, that's not it at all. It was just-" John searched for words, "-unexpected. That's all."

Sherlock smirked at him, reaching over to wrap his hand around John's wrist. "You were aroused by it." He looked at him appraisingly. "You're aroused at the thought of it, right now."

"Sherlock!" John whispered. He glanced around but no one was close enough to overhear them. He glared at the innocent look that Sherlock was giving him as he finished his pasta.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. You just surprise me, John." He leaned forward, voice low. "Would you like to see it again? We could go there together and you could watch. But this time, we'll go home together and after you take care of any injuries, doctor, I could take care of you."

Sherlock had moved closer until his lips were just brushing John's ear and he could feel the shiver that ran through him. He sat back again and this time took a bite from John's plate, innocent face back in place.

John took in a deep breath. "You are a menace, Sherlock Holmes."

"Ready to go?"

"Absolutely."

They rose from the table as one and Sherlock waved Angelo off as he approached them to offer dessert.

"Not tonight. Maybe next time."

He tossed down some notes with the knowledge that no bill was forthcoming and they collected their coats, pulling them on with a minimum of eye contact.

The tension that existed between them was palpable and Sherlock tucked John's hand in the crook of his arm this time. They weren't hurrying, but neither were they taking their time.

"So, no park then?" John looked out of the corner of his eye at Sherlock and saw the small grin that was there.

"Not tonight, I don't think. I'm thinking that we might turn in early. What do you say?"

"I say that sounds like a marvelous idea." John was grinning openly now.

\--

They arrived at the flat in record time and John spent a few harrowing seconds digging for his key while he could feel Sherlock's breath on the back of his neck. They barely made it through the door and John found himself pressed up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock kissing him desperately.

"Don't you think," he gasped out while Sherlock had moved to his neck, "that we should at least make it up the stairs?"

"Tedious."

It was a typical Sherlock answer, but he drew back to offer his hand to lead John up the steps. When they got there, the door was securely locked and coats were shed before he continued his attentions.

John had been considering something but he was a bit shy about bringing it up. Not everyone liked it and it was always both exciting and nerve-wracking to discover what a new partner enjoyed.

There was also the use of protection discussion. They had been using condoms by unspoken agreement, at least on Sherlock, because they frankly hadn't wanted to the take the time to get him tested. John would drag him to the clinic tomorrow or Mycroft could send someone to the flat, he really didn't bloody care. They would talk about it later.

"Sherlock, stop for a minute." Sherlock immediately stopped trying to unbutton John's shirt and looked at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just-"

"You're nervous. Why are you nervous? Did I do something wrong?"

John ran a soothing hand through Sherlock's hair. "No, love. You did nothing wrong." No one would have ever been able to call this man a sociopath if they could only see how that one little word affected him. It had slipped out a few times and he never failed to look surprised and a tiny bit pleased every time. John smiled up at him.

"I just wanted- Ok, fine. I am a bit nervous because even though I've had past relationships, I've never- What I'm trying to say is-" Sherlock was grinning back at him, eyes gleaming.

"Yes, John? What would you like?"

"Bloody hell. I would very much like for you to fuck me, if you don't mind. Please."

Sherlock chuckled and pulled him close. "I would like that very much."

"So you've done that before, then?"

"Yes. Years ago. I don't have a strong preference so if you'd rather-"

John stopped him. "Not tonight. Soon, definitely soon, but I'd really like it to be you this time."

Sherlock covered his mouth with his in a searing kiss. John could feel his arousal at the idea pressed against his stomach and he was not far behind. This time it was he that broke the kiss.

"Bedroom?"

Sherlock gave him a mischievous smile and taking him by the shoulders, backed him down the hallway, kissing him the entire way. By the time, they made it to the bedroom, John's shirt was hanging off his shoulders and Sherlock's was lying on the floor behind them. They both stopped by the bed to get rid of shoes and socks but after looking up at each other, removed the rest of their clothing by the fastest way possible.

Their bodies met by the side of the bed, hot and straining against one another. Sherlock was hugely turned on by the thought of what they were going to do and his enthusiasm and confidence were helping to ease John's nervousness somewhat. Until they actually got on the bed.

Sherlock gentled his kisses as he urged John to lie back on the bed. He looked at the man under him and he could feel the tension rising there, not from passion but from nerves. He knew that extra care was needed and he wanted more than anything to make this good for John.

"Are you sure?"

John heaved a deep breath and nodded. He ran his hand through Sherlock's hair, he didn't think he would ever get tired of doing that. "I'm sure. Just go slow, alright?"

Sherlock pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to his lips.

"Of course."

He took the opportunity to reach into the side table drawer and remove a condom and the small tube of lube. He placed them on the table within easy reach and resumed his gentle kisses until John began to respond ardently, hands roaming up and down his back. He could feel the tension easing in John's body and began to make his way down his chest, reaching out with a long arm and snagging the lube.

This they had done before. At least just a little bit and John had admitted that he used his fingers every now and then when he masturbated, so he knew what to expect. Mostly. He could tell that Sherlock was being very careful and he appreciated it. He was still a little nervous but that was quickly fading as Sherlock made his way toward his cock. He drew his knees up so that his feet were flat on the bed, opening himself up.

Sherlock licked a stripe up John's cock before taking the head into his mouth. Moving slowly and with soft suction, he worked his way up and down the shaft to distract John and dispel the last of his nervousness. He slicked up the fingers on his right hand and tossed the tube to the side, making sure that it stayed within easy reach.

He pressed a slick finger behind John's balls, stroking gently backward until the pad of his finger brushed his hole. He pressed in with just his fingertip, maintaining his slow and steady pace on John's cock. John's hands were in his hair again, tugging gently on his curls. He gave a soft moan around the cock in his mouth and pressed his finger in a bit farther. He looked up to make sure that John was alright and was greeted by the sight of pupil blown eyes staring down at him.

"More. Give me, give me another."

Sherlock withdrew and then pressed in with two fingers. He felt John wince and he froze, waiting for him to adjust. He could feel the muscles start to relax and he carefully started to work his fingers in and out. He crooked them slightly on the pull out and brushed over John's prostate. The response was immediate.

John's hips bucked and he was caught between Sherlock's mouth and fingers. His fingers tightened in Sherlock's hair to the point of pain and he could care less. Sherlock loved it when he pulled his hair, especially like this. Sherlock brushed over his prostate again in conjunction with a long suck-slide on his cock and John groaned helplessly. A few more like that and he was dangerously close to coming.

"Stop. Sher- Stop. I'm too close."

Sherlock pulled off his cock, fingers still working in and out of his arse. He rested his cheek against John's thigh, eyes dark.

"Alright?"

John nodded. He closed his eyes. The sight of Sherlock giving him that look was almost too much. It wasn't helping his arousal recede enough to continue. He took a few deep breaths and nodded again.

"Go ahead. Another."

Sherlock applied more lube to his fingers and, rising to his knees, pressed in with two for a few strokes before working in a third finger. The stretch was not quite as bad this time and John made no outward sign of pain. He looked up at Sherlock, face flushed and so very ready for this.

Another few minutes of Sherlock's fingers had him writhing on the bed and John took the initiative to grab the condom packet off the table. He tore it open and Sherlock removed his fingers so that he could move close enough for John to reach his cock and roll the condom on. He slicked himself up and looked to John once more for confirmation.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, definitely ready. How do you want me?"

Sherlock looked down at him and leaning forward, kissed him slowly. "Just like this. I want to see you." He grabbed a pillow and John raised his hips so that Sherlock could position it. Sherlock hooked an arm behind John's knee, pushing his leg back for easier access. With his other hand, he grasped his cock at the base to guide himself in.

The head of his cock pushed in and he paused, allowing John to get used to the sensation. He braced his hand just above John's shoulder and pushed in just a bit more, stopping again when he could see a shadow of pain cross John's face.

"It's alright. Keep going. Just a bit much to get used to."

Sherlock continued his slow slide in, stopping and letting John adjust until he was fully seated inside him. He could feel his balls brush John's arse and it was getting more and more difficult to go slow. It was sheer will power at this point. It had been years since he had done this and he had all but deleted how incredible it felt to be inside another person's body. He also had never factored in how it would feel if you loved that person.

It was overwhelming.

"Sherlock? You alright?"

He huffed out a laugh. It was just like John to be worried about him at a time like this. He moved the arm that was still behind John's knee and he automatically wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist.

"I've just never done this with someone that I care about." He winced at the words but it was worth the embarrassment to see the soft smile on John's face.

"Well, then. Get on with it."

Sherlock smiled back at him and gave an experimental thrust. God that was good. He was still holding back, going slow, when he changed the angle slightly and John's body arched underneath him. He gasped, eyes wide.

"There. Oh my god, there."

Sherlock kept in mind the precise angle needed to brush against John's prostate, now thankful for the thin desensitizing layer of latex. He kept his strokes deep and even, relishing in the noises that John was making.

"Harder. Sherlock, please!"

He snapped his hips, driving into John's body hard enough that the headboard bumped against the wall. It couldn't be helped and he really didn’t care how loud they were being. John's resultant groan was the spark that caused the tension in his body to ignite to full blown need. He was getting close and he wanted John to come first.

"John." He could barely get the name past his clenched teeth. "John. Touch yourself."

He felt the knuckles of John's hand against his stomach as he wrapped his hand around his own cock. He was stroking himself in time with Sherlock's thrusts which were starting to become erratic. He was losing control and the headboard stuttered against the wall in an arrhythmic tattoo.

"Are you close?" Sherlock dropped his head, lips brushing John's in an open-mouthed kiss. He swallowed John's increasing moans and Sherlock felt his hand moving faster and faster on his cock. John gave a final gasp against Sherlock's lips, a low groan following after. Sherlock felt hot liquid spurt against his stomach and the contractions in John's arse pulled him over the edge.

He drove into him a half dozen more times and then thrust in deeply, holding himself still as the last bit of his release filled the condom. He collapsed on top of John, belatedly concerned about crushing him, but there was no chance of that. John's arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, the sweat starting to dry between their bodies.

"That." John panted. "That was amazing."

Sherlock grinned into his shoulder. "You think so?"

John leaned his cheek against the top of Sherlock's head. "I'm definitely a fan."

"Just wait until we try it the other way round."

John groaned. He actually felt his cock give a feeble twitch at the thought. "Oh my god, Sherlock." Sherlock raised his head so that he could give John a cheeky grin. John gave him a soft kiss, eyes already starting to close. "We need a shower."

Sherlock drew back, holding the base of the condom and taking note of John's slight wince when he pulled out.

"You'll want some paracetamol tonight. You'll be feeling that in the morning."

John stretched and winced again. "I'm feeling it now." He took in the concerned look on Sherlock's face. "It's a good feeling, Sherlock. Promise."

After proper condom disposal was accomplished and a slightly giggly and ridiculous shower was had, they crawled back into bed. John was already fading, head pillowed on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock watched him getting closer to sleep and marveled at how they had reached this point.

"I can feel you watching me, you know."

Sherlock laughed, shoulders shaking. It shouldn't be that funny, but he was tired and a bit giddy.

"What is it?" John looked up at him, only moving enough so that he could see Sherlock's face.

"This. Us." He waved the hand not curled around John's shoulder, indicating their bodies under the duvet. "I never knew that it could be like this. Sharing this with another person."

"So you'll keep me around for a while, then?" John tried to keep his tone light, but Sherlock picked up on the undercurrent of meaning in his words.

"Always."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and the kudos! It's been a lot of fun posting this and reading everyone's reactions to it. 
> 
> I've got another one (or two) in the planning stages, so keep an eye out probably after the first of the year.
> 
> Thanks again and enjoy the smut!
> 
> PS - This chapter has been edited but not betaed or britpicked, so any mistakes are all mine! Just couldn't wait! :)

Chapter 11 - Epilogue

It had been a few weeks since John moved back into Baker Street and things were, well, normal. He still gave Sherlock grief for the state of the refrigerator and Sherlock demanded that John rectify his perpetual between cases boredom. That request was able to be filled in far more creative and pleasurable ways than ever before and John was happy to oblige. Especially after a round of mutual blood tests made condoms obsolete.

Sherlock still had nightmares. They were getting to be fewer and farther between, but they were still there. John knew from his own experience that they might never fully go away and he was glad to be able to offer whatever comfort he could when Sherlock woke, sweating and with tears streaming at times. They never talked about them in the daytime but John knew that Sherlock was getting better. He trusted that he would talk more about it when he was ready.

John quit his regular hours at the clinic and they agreed to keep him in mind for some fill in hours if he was able. He had thought about it and he decided that if they were going to do this, they would be full partners, equally in the work and all other definitions of the word.

They had gone on a few cases and they were getting used to how this part of their relationship worked. It wasn't too terribly different from before, only now John went to bed in the downstairs bedroom when he became too tired to be of help and he was sometimes woken up by Sherlock curling around his body, cold toes tucked between his calves.

The post-case rush was all that John had imagined and more. Mrs. Hudson had almost caught them in the foyer at least three times and he now had a no-hands policy in play until they reached their own flat.

\--

"Would you still like to watch?"

Sherlock eyed John from the sofa. He'd been ensconced there for most of the day and John could tell that something was going on with him. Their last case had been difficult and it had not ended well. John knew that Sherlock blamed himself. If only he'd figured it out faster, if only he had not taken the scant three hours of much needed rest they would have been able to find the victim in time. Lestrade had watched Sherlock with worry as he had ranted at everyone's stupidity and then stormed off the scene.

He had looked to John, who nodded and followed Sherlock, catching up with him just as he had hailed a cab. The tense silence was uncomfortable, but John knew now that Sherlock would talk to him in time and if he pushed it, it would just make things worse. They were more in tune with each other than ever and he knew that it would be a bad night.

"Will it help?"

Sherlock nodded. He needed this. Needed to be able fight against something other than his own mind. He had tried very hard to spare John from his anger and frustration, but he had not escaped unscathed. John had just taken his ranting with his usual stoicism, not saying a word until Sherlock had thrown himself down on the sofa in frustration, curling himself with his back to the room. He had felt a gentle hand on his head and then it was gone, a reminder that he was not alone and the promise to be there when he was ready.

"Alright then. Dinner, first." It wasn’t a question and Sherlock didn't argue. They ate in silence and Sherlock went to their room after, pulling the leather jacket out of the wardrobe. He wasn't worried about recognition, that was a moot point, but it felt right.

John was waiting for him and they clattered down the steps together.

The cab ride was tense. John watched him out of the corner of his eye but allowed Sherlock to keep up his cool facade with his silence. Sherlock leapt out when they arrived at their destination and John calmly paid the cabbie and followed. He caught up with Sherlock as he reached the door and reached out a hand to stop him.

“Wait. Just wait a minute.”

Sherlock whirled on him, expecting an argument against doing this tonight but instead John pulled him away from the door and pushed him up against the wall. He ran his hands under Sherlock’s shorter jacket and up his back, reaching up on his toes to cover his mouth with his own.

John kissed him until he felt the hard line of Sherlock’s mouth soften. His tongue swept over that full bottom lip and he felt some of the tension leave Sherlock’s body as he opened his mouth in acceptance. John took one of his hands from it’s current position on Sherlock’s back and pushed fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He tugged on the curls and Sherlock melted against him. They kissed until John drew back, pressing a final kiss to Sherlock’s lips.

“Better?”

Sherlock held on to him, resting his forehead against John’s.

“Much. Thank you.”

John smiled at him and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “I couldn’t let you go in there like that. You were not at your best.”

Sherlock pulled back and glared down at him. “Oh really?”

“Couldn’t let you get your arse kicked with your boyfriend watching, now could I?”

Sherlock gaped at him. Boyfriend? He hadn’t even considered what John was now in title. He was just John. He supposed they would need some term for each other.

His silence had made John uncomfortable. “I mean- I didn’t mean- If you don’t want to call-”

“Partner.”

“What?”

“I prefer the term partner. It covers every aspect of our life together. You are my partner in the work, in our flat, in our bed and in my...heart.” He looked away when he stated this and almost missed John’s sharp intake of breath.

“Sherlock Holmes, that has got to be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up.”

“I love you, too. Partner works for me.”

They broke apart, John still grinning at him and Sherlock paid his fee to the man at the door. He didn’t even have to give his initials, they just went on the list. He paid John’s spectator fee as well, if only to hear him joke about this being a date.

He did feel better. More grounded. He was consistently amazed by John’s natural tendency to know exactly what he needed. And he felt a strange sense of relief at having put a name to what had transpired between them. It was something that he could say and anyone would be able to understand, in a rudimentary way of course, what John was to him. He determined to try it out at the next possible opportunity.

The next opportunity quite literally ran into him. He should have foreseen the pending awkwardness but in his determination to work through the aftermath of the case he had pushed any insight to social convention far from his mind. The result was an unfortunate collision with Tyler.

Sherlock had turned to tell John where he should stand for the most optimum view when his forward momentum was halted by a pair of hands on his biceps. His head whipped around and that put him almost nose to nose with Tyler Gentry. Before he could react, John intervened by clearing his throat and saying evenly, “I think he’s alright. You can remove your hands now. Ta."

Sherlock stepped out of Tyler's reach when the other man didn't immediately respond and checked John from the corner of his eye. He was wearing a seemingly pleasant smile to those not well versed to his expressions, but Sherlock knew that look well. It would be beneficial to diffuse the situation quickly. He slung an arm around John’s shoulders, effectively placing John between himself and Tyler. Sherlock felt him relax at the display.

"Tyler, I believe you have not been properly introduced. This is Dr. John Watson, my partner.” He couldn’t suppress a smirk at the look on Tyler’s face.

“Partner?”

“Partner.” John leaned further into Sherlock’s body, so that the arm around him draped around his neck.

Tyler held up his hands in defense. “Sorry about that, mate.” He grinned. “Good on you. And good luck with that one.” He nodded at Sherlock and made his way toward where the crowd was gathering.

“Conveniently forgot about that, did you?” John sounded more amused now than angry.

“John, I-” Sherlock stopped. “Yes.”

Sherlock had drawn his arm back and John bumped his shoulder amiably. "It's alright. I should probably thank him." John grinned at Sherlock's horrified face. "Don't you need to get ready?"

Sherlock nodded, looking at John speculatively. "Over here." He led him to where a table was situated to hold shoes and things for the fighters. He shrugged off his leather jacket and started to place it on the table when John took it from him instead.

"I'll hold on to it."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

Sherlock looked at him and could see the signs of arousal already. So that's how it was going to be. He could work with that. He maintained eye contact and started unbuttoning his shirt slowly. John cleared his throat and his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip. Sherlock smirked.

"Keep it up and you won't make it to your turn."

"I think I'll make it to my _turn_ just fine."

John barked a laugh at the innuendo. He was already half hard just from watching that pale skin come into view. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. This was something that John had had to get used to. A seductive and flirty Sherlock that knew how to use his body and voice to make his knees weak. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Sherlock knelt to remove his shoes and socks and the sight of him looking up from the floor made John's heart rate pick up. Only he could get turned on by such a simple action. Sherlock stood and rolled his shoulders to loosen them up. He gave John another grin when he caught him watching and leaned down to kiss him.

"You're in a much better mood."

"Mmmm, yes. Thank you." Sherlock stepped back and continued his stretching, to John's complete enjoyment. He looked up when Tyler approached them.

"You're up Holmes."

Sherlock nodded and then indicating that John follow him, he made his way to the center of the crowd, stopping just at the edge of the open space. A small whoop went up and he rolled his eyes. John stepped up behind him and leaned up so that only he could hear him.

"Looks like you have fans."

"Imbeciles."

He leaned his cheek against Sherlock's bare shoulder. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Sherlock turned and blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "Next movie night. Jesus." He motioned toward Sherlock's opponent, who was rather large. "Try not to let him squash you." Sherlock gave him a cheeky grin and walked toward the center of the open area.

\--

It didn’t last long.

As so many people did, the larger man severely underestimated Sherlock’s lean and wiry frame and was soundly trounced. It took Sherlock about five minutes longer than it should have but he was too much of a show off to end it cleanly. Easily ducking under his opponent's increasingly tired swings, he was able to get in a few jabs to the ribs that inevitably won him the round. Tyler strode over to him and grabbed his wrist, raising his arm in the air to the cheers and applause of the crowd.

Sherlock searched the group for John and, seeing him, tugged his wrist from Tyler's grasp to make his way to him. It wasn't easy. The people that had seen him fight before were exuberant in their praise and he had to endure more slaps on the back than he cared to. John was waiting, still holding his leather jacket and shirt neatly folded over his arm.

"Nicely done."

Sherlock gave him a half smile, running his hands through his hair before pulling on his shirt. He left it unbuttoned, the deep burgundy framing the light sheen of sweat on his chest and throat. He leaned down to speak directly in John's ear.

"Enjoy yourself?"

John swallowed. He was a horrible person to be this incredibly turned on by watching Sherlock beat the hell of someone, regardless of it being a mutually beneficial arrangement. But he couldn't find it in himself to care. The way his body moved was a work of art, not a motion wasted. He looked him up and down to check for any injuries and was impressed to see that the worst was a small cut on the knuckles of his right hand. Sherlock had taken down a much larger opponent virtually unscathed.

Sherlock was still standing very close to him and, slipping a hand inside his open shirt, John ran his fingers down his ribs to rest on his hip. He hooked a finger in a belt loop and tugging on it, murmured, "Let's get out of here."

Sherlock let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and pulled away to put his shoes back on. He shrugged his jacket on over the open shirt and found Tyler quickly to collect his winnings. He glanced back at John once and by silent agreement, they made for the door.

Sherlock turned left and headed toward the main road, John on his heels. They were coming up even to the mouth of an alley when John suddenly grabbed his arm and tugged him down it, pushing him up against the brick wall in the relative privacy of the shadows.

"You," John said between desperate kisses, "were bloody gorgeous out there." Sherlock threw his head back, biting back a groan in an effort to be quiet, when John turned his attention to his neck. John was kissing down to the junction of Sherlock's neck and shoulder, when he bit down, sucking a mark into his skin. Sherlock's hips jerked and he cupped a hand over the back of John's head, encouraging him. They both had a bit of a thing for marking each other, as long as it was easily covered.

John reached for the button of Sherlock's trousers, easily unfastening it and lowering his zip. He cupped his hand over Sherlock's erection, pressing the heel of his palm to it through his pants. Sherlock tugged his head back up to capture his lips, moaning into his mouth. John tugged his trousers and pants down just enough to free Sherlock's cock and wrapped his hand around it's length. He stroked a few times, Sherlock hungrily kissing him, before pulling back. He dropped to a crouch and bracing himself on the wall at Sherlock's hip, John took him into his mouth.

Sherlock let out a gasp, dropping his head back to thump against the brick. They had only done this a few times since they dispensed with condoms and it still took him by surprise how good it felt. He rested his hand on the back of John's head, not pushing, just keeping that point of connection. John took in as much as he could and covered the rest with his hand, setting a steady rhythm that he knew would get Sherlock off quickly.

He could hear Sherlock's muffled groans and looking up he could see that he had covered his mouth with his other hand, his breath coming faster and faster. John couldn't stand it anymore. He reached down and unfastened his own trousers, sacrificing the stabilizing hand on Sherlock's cock to get his hand on his own. He began to stroke himself, all the while keeping up the pace with his mouth.

The noises Sherlock was making, stifled though they were, proved that he was getting close and they were having the same effect on John. Sherlock tugged on his hair, giving him warning, and John quickened his pace, increasing the suction slightly. Sherlock let out a strangled noise and he was coming, John swallowing around him.

He worked him through his orgasm and then pulled off, leaning his head against Sherlock's hip as he stroked himself faster and faster. He came with a grunt, right between Sherlock's expensive leather shoes on the pavement. They held their positions for a moment, breathing hard, until Sherlock reached a hand down to help John up. They each took care of tucking themselves away and putting their clothing to rights.

Sherlock pulled John to him, kissing him and tasting himself when he met John's tongue with his own. He rested his forehead against John's when he pulled back, laughing quietly.

"What?" John's eyes were closed and he was enjoying the afterglow and affection.

"You," Sherlock said against his temple, "are perfect."

John snorted.  "Well, you're not so bad yourself."

Sherlock held him close. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't ever have to worry about finding out. I'm not going anywhere. Promise." John felt the shift in mood and knew that Sherlock was leading up to something.

Sherlock swallowed, hard. "I'll hold you to that promise. John, I- I love you very much. I know I don't say it nearly enough, but I hope that you understand that it is no less true."

John loved this painfully repressed man so much. Sherlock had gotten so much more natural at showing simple affection and this was just more proof that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"You don't have to, as much as I like hearing you say it." John held onto him. "And in case I haven't said it enough today, I love you too."

Sherlock kissed his forehead and stepped back. He held out his hand for John to take and laced their fingers together.

"Let's go home."


End file.
